


Dream a little dream of me

by IMakeMyselfLol



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Europe, Family Feels, First Date, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Honeymoon, Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, I'm just keeping on going, Kidnapped John, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Meeting the Parents, Minor Canonical Character(s), Minor Character Death, Nightmares, Past Abuse, Pool Sex, Psychopath!Sebastian, Romance, Secrets, Sentimental!Sherlock, Stubborn!John, Texting, Torture, True Love, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Planning, life until the end
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 19:16:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 33
Words: 101,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IMakeMyselfLol/pseuds/IMakeMyselfLol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Are you okay?" Sherlock asked, swallowing nervously. John knew what he meant. "I thought for a while there that I wasn't going to make it" Sherlock nodded. "So did I." John pulled him closer. "Yeah, well while I was thinking that I realised something else. I thought I wouldn't get a chance to tell you, you probably know already, but I just think you should hear it from me. I love you Sherlock." John said, confident. He didn't blush or giggle, simply smiled up at the man he loved. "I love you too John."</p><p> The life and love of Sherlock and John, from the beginning to the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "Here, take my hand" John grabbed it, unthinking. After all the cuffs made doing anything else rather difficult. That said, it didn't stop the tingle John felt at his touch, not just because their hands were cold. "Of course I'd be thinking about that right now when we've just become fugitives"John muttered to himself, confident that Sherlock hadn't heard a word over the traffic and the constant noise of their footfalls as they ran. Even though his fist still throbbed from punching the director, and he was running from the police and his home, he was in pure bliss, Sherlock had never allowed this level of contact, and John couldn't seem to get enough.

"Here, ta ke my hand" John grabbed it, unthinking. After all the cuffs made doing anything else rather difficult. That said, it didn't stop the tingle John felt at his touch, not just because their hands were cold. "Of course I'd be thinking about that right now when we've just become fugitives" John muttered to himself, confident that Sherlock hadn't heard a word over the traffic and the constant noise of their footfalls as they ran. Even though his fist still throbbed from punching the director, and he was running from the police and his home, he was in pure bliss, Sherlock had never allowed this level of contact, and John couldn't seem to get enough.

Sherlock studied John carefully as he grasped his hand, waiting to see how he'd react to sudden contact. He'd had his suspicions that John felt something for him, more than just friends or flatmates. It intrigued him. Mostly because he had realised quite suddenly (after spending some time watching himself in a mirror) that he reacted the same way. The slight pupil enlargement and raised heart rate all pointed to one increasingly obvious conclusion: he was in love with John. Kind,caring, loyal, unwaveringly straight John. He'd heard John say it enough. These... Feelings were one sided. Only one way to know for sure. It was getting darker by the minute anyway and he could feel the tiredness oozing off of John. "Let's get a room for tonight, the search will start again in the morning."

John sighed with relief, he may have been in the army but he hadn't run that much in years. Sherlock never ceased to amaze him. The man had barely eaten a thing all day and yet he hadn't stopped running. Nor had he let go of the tight grip he had on Johns hand. It felt nice, safe evento have the detective so near to him. "Alright, I take it you already have a place in mind?" Sherlock smirked and continued at the same pace as before but now visibly leading. They ran for another kilometre or so until they reached a small hotel. It was perfect, secluded enough to be a hide out but near enough to society to give the safety of witnesses.

Trust Sherlock to pick a hotel that supplied kettles and mugs to each guest to go with the abundance of tea and coffee available in their room. Their room. Sherlock had hesitated when the clerk asked what they wanted, settling on a twin bed suite. As they walked (cuffs removed "YOU HAD A KEY?!") to the lift there was a question on Johns lips, he could see the unrest in Sherlock's posture but the infuriating man had made a shhh gesture with his hand before John had even opened his mouth. It was in silence that they entered their room.

Sherlock felt strange fluttering in his stomach and it unnerved him. It must have shown on his face because John was quick to try and grill him. Sherlock was not ready to try answer the questions he knew were coming quite yet, so he silenced John and was inordinately grateful when he kept his mouth shut. The room was nice, although the cleaner who had stripped his bed was having several affairs with staff members, Sherlock had no real objections to the room. Unless the fact that John's bed was not part of his own counted. The stray thought would have thrown him for a loop not too long ago but now... that was almost innocent.He stripped off his coat, enjoying the secretive glances that John gave him as he did so. He'd worn the purple shirt on purpose just because he knew John liked clambered onto the couch and shut his eyes, hands nestled under his chin. It was time to play the waiting game.

Sherlock had immediately gone to his mind palace when John was going to bring up his questions again, and John couldn't tell if it was on purpose or not. He was worn out in any case and ripped off his clothes in relative silence. The lights were off already and John collapsed into bed almost instantly. The image of Sherlock flopped so brazen on the couch while they were supposedly on the run from both the police and Moriarty fading as he drifted .He stirred and awoke hours later to find a semi nude Sherlock Holmes in his bed facing him, green eyes hard at work, scrutinizing John's face.

"John?" he whispered, gulping down something that sounded like fear. It was written all over his face. He had his arms up, covering his chest, defending himself. "Mmm?" John grunted back, still drowsy. "John, I... I have realised that... Its about time I told you that I have feelings for you." John was stunned. For one that Sherlock had said anything at all, the man was notoriously inept at dealing with situations involving any sort of feelings, especially his own but mainly because he felt the same way John did. Sherlock took the prolonged silence to mean rejection and blushed deeply, hoping that he hadn't just lost his one and only friend, and the man he loved. He made to leave Johns bed, feeling more empty than he had ever felt before. He didn't want to be alone. He needed his John.

"Sherlock, I feel the same way" John murmured, hurriedly grabbing his pale wrist and pulling him back to lie with him. John scooted over to make more room for the tall man to lie down comfortably and smiled broadly at the look of relief and hope on Sherlock's face. John grabbed Sherlock's hand and nestled close to him until he had soft curls on his shoulder. Sherlock listened to the steady sound of John breathing and began to doze off.

For now, knowing that he was not alone was enough to kill the nightmares of losing John, his resolve to solve the Moriarty issue had grown infinitely larger now that he had something to lose. It was dangerous and bloody moronic, his plan to stop Jim but waking up next to John would definitely reassure him that everything would be okay. It always would be with John. Sherlock felt lips brush lightly off his head, and his whole body relaxed for the first time he could remember since his drug days, and definitely the first time since Jim had appeared. "Goodnight" John whispered and, with a contented sigh, they slept, wrapped in the safety of the others arms.


	2. Dream a little dream of me Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Sherlock woke, he was both shocked and pleased to find John was still in bed with him. He could feel Johns arm under his back, hand drooped lazily in the crook of his elbow while the other was covering his own which were lying on johns chest. He hadn't had a single nightmare. Sherlock had almost forgotten how restoring sleep could be, usually if he tried he ended up in a worse state than before, dreams of a past life he'd rather forget plagued him every time he closed his eyes.

When Sherlock woke, he was both shocked and pleased to find John was still in bed with him. He could feel John's arm under his back, hand drooped lazily in the crook of his elbow while the other was covering his own which were lying on johns chest. He hadn't had a single nightmare. Sherlock had almost forgotten how restoring sleep could be, usually if he tried he ended up in a worse state than before, dreams of a past life he'd rather forget plagued him every time he closed his eyes, and his mind rebelled against the black thoughts sleep dropped there.

Sherlock hadn't realised that John smelled so good, a mixture of tea, biscuits and aftershave. He liked it. With his ear to John's chest he heard the slight change in his breathing, he was waking up.  
The first thing John saw when he opened his eyes was a mop of dark curls nestled snugly into his shoulder, as if it, as if he had been made for this exact purpose. He stared for a while at the bare back his arm was under. It was pale and skinny, but still muscular enough to exude a strength. It was peppered with small scars. He sighed, not wanting to ruin the moment with his questions. He swallowed them instead, saving them for another time. "Morning Sherlock."

John began to move, getting up. He was surprised to find Sherlock looking hurt, and then covering with the indifference he was used to. "I'm just going to the bathroom, I'll be right back" he hesitated a little before planting a soft kiss on Sherlock's forehead. He smiled involuntarily at the bemused look on Sherlock's face, clearly they would be taking this very slow. John was surprisingly fine with that. Everything about this was need for the both of them. He'd waited this long and Sherlock was most definitely worth it.  
Sherlock pouted as John walked away. Was he deliberately teasing Sherlock with light kisses on his head instead of his lips? Something had to be done and Sherlock knew who to ask.

Molly, need advice reply asap ~SH

What do you need Sherlock? x Molly

Appropriate moment to kiss someone ~SH

In private! Surprise them when they least expect it, tell John I say hello ~ x Molly

For an idiot she really was quite perceptive. The thought made Sherlock smile. Judging by the noise of the shower he had approximately ten minutes to figure out a way to stop Moriarty and kiss John. The former would pose little trouble but John... Uncharted waters. The though gave him a little thrill.  
*****night fall*****  
It had been a hectic day but Moriarty was in custody now with enough proof to put him behind bars for life. And if he wasn't, well, Mycroft would see to that. They could go home again, one night away had been too many. Sherlock was euphoric and took the stairs to 221b two at a time. Nothing could bring him down, not when Lestrade had made Anderson and Donovan grovel for his forgiveness which - of course - he graciously denied them.  
John marveled at him, waiting till they were home to ask him how he'd figured everything out. Sherlock had calmly explained it to him for a while, tempted to leave out the bit where he'd gotten Mycroft to give some SAS men a quick tip about the shooters that had almost ruined his life, after which John was awestruck.

"You are incredible Sherlock, how do you even do tha-" Sherlock cut him off, putting his hands in either side if John, effectively pinning John to the wall. That was when he kissed him.

Softly at first, waiting for a response. He pulled away, eyebrow raised inquisitively. He stared for a moment and moved in again, kissing John harder this time, and after his initial shock John was incredibly responsive, pulling the lapels of Sherlock's coat, wanting him closer. Sherlock's brain was firing signals everywhere, saving this new information in the special John room of his mind palace.

The way John reacted to certain things (like Sherlock's hands on his neck and face) and the taste of his mouth (a fresh mint) and the way it felt to have him so close, finally. They stood for a long time like that, John pinned by Sherlock's arms and Sherlock glued to John by his coat. John was the one to break away.

Sherlock frowned. "Was that... Not good?" he seemed bashful now, insecure about his rash action. Maybe John hadn't liked that, it was plausible that he had not been teasing but been uncomfortable with this still. Sherlock cursed himself in his head."No! God no! That was... Definitely good. I just realised I'd forgotten to breathe" John reassured him, blushing slightly at the way he'd lost the ability to function the moment Sherlock had kissed him.

Evidently he had been wrong about taking things slow, then again this was Sherlock Holmes, of course he would be wrong. Sherlock had been genuinely concerned that John would find the experience un-enjoyable, not that it was Sherlock's first encounter, no. But before the gesture had lacked sentiment. The other's hadn't mattered to him. No one mattered except John.

Sherlock cleared his throat, confidence back and looked at the floor, hoping secretly that John would continue after he'd had enough time to breathe. It didn't seem necessary at all, at least not as necessary as kissing him. Right on cue John chuckled and pushed Sherlock onto the couch, threading thick curls through his fingers before pulling his face closer. "This was definitely a better way to end a case than blogging" John whispered before kissing both their nerves away.


	3. Dream a little dream of me Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They had fallen asleep much the same way as they had before, wrapped tightly in each others embrace. Sherlock had not slept for long. There was a lot to consider. What they had been doing up until now had been very much innocent, Sherlock could pick out children on the street who'd done much more but it had also been private. While on the case Sherlock had barely had time to breathe and he had only spoken to John to use him as a sounding board for his deductions. In reality Sherlock was, grudgingly, nervous.

They had fallen asleep much the same way as they had before, wrapped tightly in each others embrace. Sherlock had not slept for long. There was a lot to consider. What they had been doing up until now had been very much innocent, Sherlock could pick out children on the street who'd done much more but it had also been private. While on the case Sherlock had barely had time to breathe and he had only spoken to John to use him as a sounding board for his deductions. In reality Sherlock was, grudgingly, nervous.

All of this affection was well and good but he had seen John come home after a night with whoever it was he was dating at the time and it was worrying him. It was stupid he knew, but like his feelings for John he couldn't repress it. John had needs like everyone else and while Sherlock had experimented with sex in his youth this was different. He was unsure of himself. John made him nervous, he definitely had expectations of what that _should be_ like, it was one area where John would be the expert.

The faint morning light began to stream in, a pink blush permeating the room. The light allowed Sherlock to study John's face. Every little line made him smile. John looked so peaceful, not like he usually did when he slept. Sherlock had taken to watching his flatmate sleep when he was feeling restless. It was a relief to see him asleep and calm, there was no tossing and screaming. For once however studying his face was not helping Sherlock to think clearly.

He sighed and lay back against the headboard. Maybe they didn't have that type of relationship? What if John got bored and went elsewhere? Sherlock couldn't stand the thought of sharing him. God this was more complicated than all the cases Lestrade had called him for combined. Careful not to jostle John, Sherlock managed to leave John's room and pull on his robe. He perched on the armchair, figuring out his next move.

They clearly needed to talk about this, what John felt comfortable with others knowing. After all he had been the one who was always adamant that he was straight. Everyone just assumed Sherlock was incapable of affection at all. Sherlock didn't care what people thought or said, he'd happily be as affectionate with John in public as he was at home but John was not like him. He cared too much, set so much store in other people's opinion of them both. Sherlock didn't have any idea how John might react to the scoffs of Anderson or Donovan, the smirks of Mycroft.

Mycroft would know. He would know instantaneously when he saw them, in fact he probably already knew, although Sherlock had removed all the cameras a few days before Mycroft was apt at concealing them. Oh. He would also know that they hadn't progressed further than the soft, tame sort of nervous affection. That would make him intolerable. Few realised it but Mycroft possessed a charm that intoxicated all those he deigned to use it on. It meant that the few relationships he had advanced very quickly into acts of a rather unsavory nature, they were were best not spoken about in the presence of ladies anyway.

Mycroft would be ecstatic, he'd have a whole new range of artillery to fire about Sherlock not being a man, and how could he be so quaint. Ugh. He'd tell mummy on top of everything else and subject both him and John to at least two night of intense irritation. They were having this conversation before Mycroft showed up again because the one thing Sherlock would not be able to endure was the smug look on his face. This was going to be very uncomfortable.

John was woken by the clattering of pans in the kitchen and the smell of eggs cooking. It always surprised him when Sherlock cooked. He had it in his head that Sherlock wouldn't be able to do something so menial, it didn't seem to matter that he'd lived alone for the majority of his adult life. It just seemed like the type of skill he'd have no use for. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, John pulled on a jumper over his pyjamas and strolled into the kitchen, marveling at Sherlock as he bent over to grab the milk.

The arch of his back was incredibly graceful and further down... that robe left little to the imagination. John blushed deeply and sat down, heat radiating from his entire being but specifically towards his lower half. "Morning John" Sherlock called. Even the way he said John... "Jawn" It was completely irresistible John pinched himself and shook his head. Not appropriate thoughts for the breakfast table, especially not about Sherlock. John wasn't even sure if Sherlock was still a virgin or not. "Morning." Sherlock whirled around and in moments there was a plate of steaming food on either side of the table, swiftly followed by tea.

John picked up the mug gratefully and sipped it, the hot liquid cooling him down considerably. Sherlock took this as the moment to plunge right in to conversation about their relationship. "John, do you consider us to be a couple? In the conventional sense. By that I mean.. I mean usually from what I've seen in your previous encounters there's more... involved than what we've.. and I'm just wondering if that's something you wanted? Or if you had even thought about it? Also on the same topic, do you think this" he gestured between them "should be a public relationship? I have no qualms about it but if you feel uncomfortable I should warn you that Mycroft will certainly be aware of us regardless of your stance on the matter." He poured the words out in a stream so fast it was almost impossible for John to keep up. But he got the gist of it and nearly choked on his tea. He was still spluttering while Sherlock sat, obviously waiting for a response. He was not as embarrassed by the conversation as he had imagined himself being. In fact he was quite proud at how smoothly it had gone.

"I... would definitely consider us to be a couple Sherlock, but I honestly thought, wrongly clearly, that you'd be the one who wanted us to be only as _involved_ as we have been. I mean, I wasn't even sure if you had ever... with anyone! As for the public thing... everybody already assumes we're a couple, I see no point in denying it now that we are one and it'd be nice to go places with you that didn't contain corpses or blood spatters." Sherlock looked a little bemused at that. "Yes, everybody assumes that I was always prudish or some other such rubbish. I'm not as innocent as you think" With that and a smirk Sherlock left, satisfied that when the time arose they would be on the same page.

Sherlock had barely finished getting dressed when the phone rang. It was Lestrade. "JOHN! We have a case!" Sherlock practically jumped out of his seat. John tried to calm him down but it was rather half hearted. The gleam of joy in Sherlock's eye was a welcome sight and it made his whole face light up. He became increasingly impatient as John began dressing at an average pace. Sherlock was raring to go. John felt that familiar burst of exhilaration as he clambered into a taxi outside baker street. Sherlock was not far behind him and much to John's surprise, rested his hand on John's thigh. John entwined their hands and pecked Sherlock on the cheek, enjoying the light pink colour his neck turned. Sherlock turned his head so they were face to face and smirked "No half measures John" and he pulled him in for a kiss. It was different this time around, more passionate, it was the type of kiss that eluded to something much more devious. Neither of them noticed the car pulling to a halt at the police tape until a couple of minutes had passed and there was a knock on through window. Sherlock pulled away, sighing dramatically. John rolled his eyes as they got out of the taxi.

He threw some money at the driver before acknowledging that anyone else was present. Donovan's jaw was on through floor next to Anderson's. Greg on the other hand just chuckled to himself before turning to his colleagues and demanding that they pay him ten pounds. "That was remarkable! If I'd known that would silence Anderson and Donovan I would have probably done it before!" Sherlock quipped as they hurried into the scene.  
"Simple, an idiot could figure this out! Look at the copper stain there, The rest of her body is immaculately groomed all bar that one stain. Add to that the depth and angle of the wounds and the cord markings on her wrists . They didn't force entry and were rather sloppy, it wasn't premeditated, they used the tools at hand. The electrician who came by yesterday. You can see the bill he left on the table by the door. It must be excruciatingly difficult to function with brains as dim as yours sometimes, this is obvious!"

Lestrade was unsurprised. He'd worked with Sherlock long enough to appreciate his genius and to know that these were not insults. "Alright we'll send a team to arrest him." John had been leaning against the door the whole time, watching. He was prepared when Sherlock spun around quickly and rushed out, coat swirling behind him. "Oh and Lestrade, do tell my brother that we say hello." That was one John had not been expecting. He had to run after Sherlock into the street and only managed to get his breath back when they sat down in the taxi.

"How on earth did you know that?!" John had puzzled over it for a while but nothing about Greg had seemed different. "He smelled like Mycroft, it was all over him, meaning not only did he stay the night last night but he was having a rather interesting shower before the case interrupted them"Sherlock was very serious, but when John caught his eye they both laughed. The taxi pulled up outside Angelo's.

"Wha-" John was mildly confused about why they were here exactly. "As the conventional couple we are, it's socially acceptable for us to go out for a meal together, a date?" It was more of a question than a statement. John smiled one of his crooked smiles that made Sherlock's brain meltdown. Even in that hideous jumper John was dashing. "It is, I'd love to go on a date with you Sherlock" They both blushed a small bit as Sherlock hopped out of the car and held out his hand. "Shall we?"

**A/N I told you I would make it up to you for not posting recently! Thanks for following it means a lot, R &R, if there's anything you'd like to see happen in the story just say so, **   
**what about more Mystrade or dinner with mummy? How do you feel about the possibility of a smut chapter after this? Or is it too soon? Opinions? Thanks for reading!**


	4. Dream a little dream of me Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angelo's was surprisingly empty. Though the dinner rush had yet to begin it was still unusually deserted. John eyed Sherlock who looked away innocently; he must have planned it this way. John's stomach fluttered at the effort Sherlock had made to ensure his comfort. Underneath the cold exterior Sherlock was more thoughtful than the majority of the population. The majority of the population wouldn't have slipped their coat around my shoulders during a particularly cold crime scene even though it was snowing and they were cold too. They sat down at the table by the window, the same one they had sat at on that first case together. It had become their booth.

Angelo's was surprisingly empty. Though the dinner rush had yet to begin it was still unusually deserted. John eyed Sherlock who looked away innocently; he must have planned it this way. John's stomach fluttered at the effort Sherlock had made to ensure his comfort. Underneath the cold exterior Sherlock was more thoughtful than the majority of the population. The majority of the population wouldn't have slipped their coat around my shoulders during a particularly cold crime scene even though it was snowing and they were cold too. They sat down at the table by the window, the same one they had sat at on that first case together. It had become their booth.

Angelo arrived in moments and smiled at them, winking at John, "What can I get you guys?" John ordered some soup or other while Sherlock just nodded at him. Angelo grinned knowingly and sidled out, leaving them virtually alone. Sherlock just stared at John for a minute, his mind racing. The unbroken gaze made John melt, he began to forget that they were in public at all and stifled a small moan, which he promptly blushed at. He hadn't realised he could make a noise like that. Sherlock's eyebrows had risen minutely in response but he hadn't said anything. He didn't need to. He intensified his gaze and reached across the table, caressing John's hand. John shivered at his touch. He was not one to be bested quite so easily. Beneath the table he began to rub his foot against Sherlock's, slowly moving higher and higher until he was rubbing his thigh. Sherlock smirked. They didn't even need to talk, they knew one another well enough that the regular first date interrogation was unnecessary. No, the talking they would be doing would probably be much more serious than that and for now both were content to maintain this playful silence.

The arrival of food put a stop to that as John's stomach began to rumble. Sherlock released his hand and John dug in, burning his mouth slightly on the soup. It earned him a slight click of the tongue from Sherlock. "Yeah, yeah… I'm an idiot, play a different tune will you" John joked, rolling his eyes. Sherlock chuckled, the silky baritone resounding through them both. "Hasty: maybe, idiot: never." There it was again. That irritating stomach flip. Every time Sherlock said something even bordering on kind it happened. The soft tone Sherlock took when he said it made John's heart flutter in his chest, he could feel the nervous energy rolling off the taller man in waves. It was quite frankly adorable the way he felt so unsure of whether the things he said would cause an adverse reaction. He was vulnerable and that alone told John more than anything he could have said. "Why now?" John had been pondering for a little while, but when it came to the silver eyed genius that sat across from him he was at a loss. "I was afraid. That you weren't feeling the same and one wrong move would ruin everything. You might not realise it John but you have become one of the most important aspects of my life and I didn't want to scare you away." John was shocked at his candor. "You were right of course, I needed time to come to grips with all of it, I needed that. But thank you." Sherlock's brow furrowed. "For what, John?" John smiled. "For being braver than me. I never would have worked up the courage to act on anything; I honestly had no idea you even considered _us_ to be an option."

Sherlock shook his head, smirking. "Oh John, I told you; you see but you don't observe. Every time you came into the room I wondered if you would hear my heart beating. At least my worry was warranted, I didn't have a string of women hanging off my arm." John had a sudden realisation. "The violin! I used to come home from dates and listen to you play from the stairs. That was all... Because of me?" The sad nod made his whole body hurt. "I, I had no idea! Jesus Sherlock I was only going out with them to distract myself from thinking of you!" Sherlock's eyes lit up at that and his heart wrenching smile was nearly too much for John to bear. He leaned over the table, pushing his bowl to the side and kissed Sherlock, flicking his tongue out, exploring his lower lip. Sherlock growled and John continued, putting slight pressure on the line of Sherlock's lips, cajoling them apart for his tongue to explore. Their tongues collided with slow, greedy movements. God he was delicious.

Sherlock had eaten almost nothing all day, his mouth still tasted buttery from this morning's toast. It had gotten unbearably hot and John was fighting the urge to rip off his jumper and Sherlock's jacket. Sherlock clearly sensed this as he pulled away slightly and whispered into the space between them, his voice low and filled with a new note. "We should go, it'd be a bit not good to continue here" his eyes were closed as he said this. The two of them were breathing heavily as they hailed a taxi. They avoided each other's gaze until they were in the safety of their flat. Sherlock pushed John back against the door as soon as he closed it, crushing their lips together. John swapped their positions and moved his mouth further down, kissing his jaw, moving up to his cheekbones and nibbling his ear, relishing the soft gasps of pleasure and surprise. He held Sherlock at his mercy, and he loved it. He moved lower still, kissing his neck. Sherlock writhed against him and John continued. He wanted to mark Sherlock as his own and began to suck lazily at the tender flesh of his collar bone, stroking painfully slow circles on his stomach that were getting progressively lower. "J-John" Sherlock panted and John led him to his room, not even looking where he was going. He lowered the detective onto his bed, noting the crisp black sheets. It was very Sherlock.

John straddled Sherlock, not unaware of the growing tents between them. He wanted this to be something Sherlock would remember, he would make him want to retain every second of this in his mind palace. Still entwined John began to unbutton Sherlock's shirt, his fingers lingering on the alabaster skin of his torso. He pulled it back over Sherlock's shoulders and tossed it to the side. He pushed him back until Sherlock's legs just barely touched the floor. He broke the kiss off and Sherlock opened his eyes, questioning the removal. John held his gaze as he slithered down, opening Sherlock's belt and sliding his trousers off. Sherlock's pupils almost eclipsed the grey of his iris, they both knew that was a first. It was exhilarating. John began to remove his own clothes and soon they were both entirely exposed. John wanted this to be special, an act of love rather than lust. He wanted Sherlock to know that he treasured every part of him, even the damaged ones. With that in mind he rolled Sherlock on his side and lay carefully behind him, wrapping his arms around his chest. His mouth found what it was looking for and he began to kiss every tiny scar that covered his back. Sherlock tensed at first but quickly gave in to the tender movement.

John rolled him back onto his back and rekindled his assault on his neck, hands wandering south. A gasp from Sherlock proved they'd found their mark. John began to stroke up and down, Sherlock arching beneath him. The mere sight of Sherlock like that, toned body slick with sweat, putty in his hands, very nearly pushed John over the edge and he hadn't even been touched. Sherlock had noticed this and began his own explorations, his hands roaming over muscled chest and arms. He flicked tentatively at one of John's nipples and the soft hiss he got in response encouraged him. He began to play with each one in turn while John groaned above him. John's hand continued to move at pace, Sherlock knew he would not hold out much longer. He raised himself into a sitting position and pushed John into his lap. Sherlock gave a small roll of his hips, closing the gap between them, rubbing their hard flesh together.

John's hands clenched his curls and he returned his mouth to Sherlock's with new vigour. John started thrusting in time with Sherlock and soon they were both shuddering in anticipation. John moved his hands around and stroked Sherlock, it was only a matter of when he came and John had decided that he would hear his name from Sherlock when he did. Picking up the pace he felt Sherlock harden beneath him and moved his mouth to Sherlock's neck. He bit the skin covering his Adam's apple just as Sherlock began to come. "John!" It was strangled but the cry sent John over the edge too. He could feel the release and his eyes rolled back as they collapsed against each other, moaning slightly. John gave Sherlock a sly smile as he lay panting on the bed.

John lifted himself up until Sherlock could see his torso and rubbed his fingers across it, gathering what Sherlock had left behind. With a small grin he put his fingers in his mouth and sucked them clean. Sherlock's eyes were wide. He lay back down, teasing a hand through Sherlock's hair. They were both sticky with sweat and other things. John got up and strolled towards the ensuite, turning on the shower. He gave Sherlock the most innocent look he could muster when he popped his head out through the door. "You know what would make this shower much more fun?" Sherlock was already halfway across the room. He swept John into his arms. They could shower properly later.


	5. Dream a little dream of me Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Lestrade**  
>  Greg Lestrade was not a secretive man. He was perfectly comfortable with being open about almost every part of his life. He liked, however, to be given the option to be open if he chose. Sherlock Holmes had never made that easy, there was no option with him because he knew everything about you instantly. Which is great for a crime scene, but not so good for live people with secrets and problems. Mycroft Holmes was neither a secret nor a problem, he was just new, exciting and confusing all at once.

**Lestrade**  
Greg Lestrade was not a secretive man. He was perfectly comfortable with being open about almost every part of his life. He liked, however, to be given the option to be open if he chose. Sherlock Holmes had never made that easy, there was no option with him because he knew everything about you instantly. Which is great for a crime scene, but not so good for live people with secrets and problems. Mycroft Holmes was neither a secret nor a problem, he was just new, exciting and confusing all at once.

Having Sherlock pretty much announce that they were in a relationship infront of his colleagues was more surprising than anything else. Thankfully, most of his coworkers were too dim to figure that out. They assumed the younger Holmes had been referring to a meeting between them, not one would have guessed that he was in a relationship with the man.

Most people would be shocked to find out, after all Greg had an ex-wife under his belt. Greg himself had been shocked, but Mycroft Holmes was a charming man and he knew how to get what he wanted. He was considerate and generous and Greg enjoyed spending time with him. They made a good team although Mycroft was always a step ahead. Greg's thoughts wandered back to the shower that had been interrupted this morning. They'd just have to make up for it later on. Greg drove to Mycroft's estate.

He was still in awe of the extravagant buildings and grounds. There were peacocks strolling by the fountains for crying out loud. It suited Mycroft though, everything about him screamed upper class. It seemed only appropriate that he lived in a manor that was probably worth more than an entire street in London.

After the divorce Greg was left a good portion of their money and possessions but he had to concede the house. When Mycroft had realised that he was living in a small flat, he had essentially moved him into his house within the hour. Greg didn't remember being given a choice in the matter but he was glad to be there. It was good to be able to see him whenever he was around and to say goodbye before either of them left. Plus Greg enjoyed being able to contribute something to his life.

Granted it was just food, but that was one of the few things he could do for Mycroft to thank him for everything. It was nice to see him eating something home made, and it was all reduced fat to help with his diet. Pulling up to the door it was clear that Mycroft wasn't home yet. Greg wandered to the kitchen and started dinner, Italian food was a favourite of theirs. He was just grabbing some plates when he heard the door open and the distinctive clack of Mycroft's umbrella on the hardwood floor.

Mycroft made a beeline for the kitchen straight away, the smell of food had hit him the moment he had stepped in the door. Yet another perk of Gregory's presence were the exquisite meals he prepared whenever he was at home. Mycroft hadn't eaten so well outside of a five star establishment and the mere image of Gregory cooking was rather erotic. He pushed open the door, allowing himself to bask in the warm glow that greeted him for a moment. Greg laid the table and steered Mycroft to it, pushing him into a chair. The Holmes brothers had a habitual disregard for the necessity of food and while Mycroft was a very appreciative eater, he often had to neglect himself while work called, which was a regular occurrence. "Gregory, I am perfectly capable of seating myself" he announced with only a hint of sarcasm. The whole point of the excersise had been to get him to eat with as little fuss as possible. Lestrade chuckled a bit and sat opposite. "I'm sure you can, but judging by the noise your stomach is making you didn't eat very much, if at all today. So, shut up and eat the meal, then you can talk all you want, but for now, eat." Mycroft secretly loved it when Gregory ordered him around like that. He was so used to being in control that Gregory's domineering nature was very appealing.

By the time the meal was over Mycroft was feeling much better ( though he hadn't noticed he was feeling bad) and Greg's body hummed with an aura of contentment. "Thank you Gregory, that was impeccable" Greg knew he was being sincere, the brief relationship they had was already teaching him to spot lies at face value. "It's always a pleasure to cook for someone who enjoys it as much as you do" Lestrade smirked to himself and put his hand on Mycroft's. "Sherlock asked me to say hello to you from him and John." Mycroft's lips curled slightly upwards "I wonder how you offended him, he's kept very quiet about our relationship until now." Greg was shocked. "Oh come now Gregory, he solves the unsolvable for a living, tell me how you expected him to miss this?" Of course he knew. Greg thought back to the times he had caught the younger Holmes looking at him with a grimace on his face. Clearly Sherlock had gotten more information about the nature of their relationship than he had wanted. It made Greg smile, serves the git right for looking.

"Now, if you're quite finished Gregory, I do believe I promised to make you regret leaving this morning. Come along" Mycroft had pulled the base of his umbrella away, revealing it's true nature. It was a beautiful, deliciously painful, mahogany cane. Greg shivered at the sight of it. "Now Gregory, you are going to like this" Mycroft purred and God, it was all Greg could do not to jump him right there in the kitchen but the wait would be worth it. Admittedly, sitting down would be an issue for the next few days. Mycroft Holmes loved Greg's dominant side, but tonight he was going to submit, and love every minute of it.


	6. Dream a little dream of me Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock sighed loudly, throwing his phone across the room, causing John to open an eyelid slowly. "I'm not getting that back for you later" John mumbled, voice muffled by the pillow against his face. Sherlock looked at John for a second, giving him the we-both-know-that's-not-true face before falling back against him. "Not a case then?" John asked hopefully. He was knackered and quite frankly loathe to leave the new found comfort of Sherlock's bed. In a contrast to everywhere else the Sherlock-hurricane tore through his bedroom was immaculate, if a tad dark. John quite liked the colours, dark greys and black accented with purple and navy. It was almost like Sherlock wore his room around everyday.

Sherlock sighed loudly, throwing his phone across the room, causing John to open an eyelid slowly. "I'm not getting that back for you later" John mumbled, voice muffled by the pillow against his face. Sherlock looked at John for a second, giving him the we-both-know-that's-not-true face before falling back against him. "Not a case then?" John asked hopefully. He was knackered and quite frankly loathe to leave the new found comfort of Sherlock's bed. In a contrast to everywhere else the Sherlock-hurricane tore through his bedroom was immaculate, if a tad dark. John quite liked the colours, dark greys and black accented with purple and navy. It was almost like Sherlock wore his room around everyday.

"Mycroft." Sherlock said simply, giving no further explanations because his phone buzzed against the hardwood floor. He looked at John imploringly,grey eyes wide. John rolled his eyes as he crawled out of bed to get it. Sherlock smirked to himself behind John's back. John shivered and tucked himself back under the duvet as Sherlock began to frown. "What?" Sherlock glowered and his fingers tapped across the screen deftly, years of violin making them long and supple. "My dear brother has just informed me that mummy is in London." Sherlock said in a tone laced heavily with sarcasm. "First of all mummy? And second of all why is that an issue?" The phone buzzed again. Sherlock looked at it before tensing minutely against John. "Seriously? Give me your phone. Now." John commanded and Sherlock handed it over, silent now, hands steepled beneath his chin.

Mummy's here. -MH

Invited by yourself or rather Anthea I presume -SH

In anycase we'll be having dinner at the estate tomorrow -MH

Enjoy- SH

We both know I mean you and I, don't be so childish brother -MH

And I chose to ignore it, I'd assume even you can fathom why that is -SH

Mummy has requested Greg and John's presence also. -MH

She is sending a car to collect you this evening. You'll be here for the weekend. -MH

"Oh" John was frowning now. They had barely begun to get used to expressing the feelings that had grown between them to each other. Now he was going to have to meet Sherlock's mother? "Bloody hell" John murmured, fully alert now. He sat up and leaned back against the headboard, waiting for Sherlock to tell him the plan. There was always a plan.

It was some time before Sherlock came to, long enough for John to shower, make breakfast and return. "The car will be here at three and much though I wish we could avoid it I'm afraid that I at the very least have to go." Sherlock stared out at the door and John looked at him carefully in his peripheral vision. The tension in his shoulders had increased and John could make out a light sheen of sweat dappled across his forehead. He moved a bit closer, putting what he hoped was a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Not letting you go somewhere that dangerous alone. Three Holmes's under one roof? I'd be surprised if the place was still standing after the starter" he smiled and patted Sherlock's back softly, hoping to express that it was okay, even though inside he was having a tough time figuring out what he was going to do himself.

"You won't enjoy yourself John, I'm warning you now while there's still time to administer a mild dose of anthrax" John shook his head and smiled. "No anthrax. We'll survive, plus a whole weekend away might be nice for a change, no fingers in the jam, no explosions,no potentially deadly fungi on the table" Sherlock smiled a bit at that. It would be a bit more bearable with John at his side. "There's a suitcase in the bottom of the wardrobe, that is if you plan on packing clothes." it sounded ridiculously suggestive, then again, most things that came out of Sherlock's mouth did. John thrust a piece of toast into Sherlock's hands and then opened the wardrobe.

Sure enough, underneath the forest of suits lay a black suitcase. John had just pulled it out and Sherlock was behind him. "Mycroft's doing. He says it's mostly for you as the next shipment of my suits are at the estate anyway, quote 'No refusals or gratitude. It's really a gift for the rest of us.'" The case was contained two suits, what felt like a cashmere jumper and an assortment of hygiene products. Even John had to admit the suits were stunning, one a jet black with an emerald shirt,the other a dark navy with a white shirt. "Care to try them on?" Sherlock asked him, a hint of curiosity in his voice. John sighed and began to pull on the black suit. Sherlock watched him in silence, cataloging data and storing information.

"Green suits you" he whispered as John stood in front of the mirror. Mycroft certainly knew his stuff about suits. Of course he did, he bought Sherlock's suits and those were pure perfection in an incredibly figure hugging shirt. "You think so?" John met Sherlock's eyes in the reflection, genuinely surprised. Sherlock often told him how much he disliked John's clothes, especially recently (mainly because he was still in them) but it was definitely the first time he had admired an item if John's wardrobe. Sherlock stared at him. The black jacket enhanced John's wide shoulders and the trousers left little to the imagination in the back but were decidedly more reserved in the front. "Take the jacket off, just to be 100% positive" John shrugged the jacket off and waited for the verdict. Yes, the shirt tightened around John's biceps and again at his chest and abdomen, the most muscled areas of his body. The green set off the specks of emerald in his eyes and accentuated his tanned complexion. Sherlock caught himself wondering if John had looked this good in army camouflage. Probably was the conclusion. "Brilliant. Fantastic. Perfect"

John smiled and picked up the jacket, turning to face Sherlock. Those were their compliments, the only ones Sherlock really knew to use and the only John had ever bestowed upon him. He was blushing. "Thanks, Right.. Uh.. Well you should get dressed too, it's almost two, if you want to finish up whatever the experiment on the table is before we go, don't want Mrs Hudson to try clear it away again." The last time she'd done that... There had very nearly been an epidemic. Sherlock nodded curtly, going to the bathroom with a bundle of clothes in his arms. John cleaned up while he was in the shower, wiping crumbs off the sheets and washing dishes.

By the time he was finished Sherlock had slunk back in and cleared away his experiment. He was wearing the shirt. The purple one. John knew it was on purpose. "I know what your doing" he called from the sink, picturing the face of feigned innocence Sherlock would have on. "That's my favourite shirt of yours and you know it" he twirled around to find the detective millimeters from him. "I do know that yes. Just showing my... appreciation for your cooperation." Sherlock leaned in closer, gently pressing John back against the counter, he had been researching, apparently this was a common occurance in most other peoples relationships.

Their lips had barely touched when there was a light knock on the door. John sighed into Sherlock's mouth before pulling back. "We should go, don't want to make a bad first impression." He grabbed Sherlock's hand and dragged him closer. "We'll continue in the car" he whispered, picking up the suitcase. Sherlock smirked and opened the door, throwing his coat on as they ran down the stairs side by side. The car was evidently expensive ti Sherlock, the bullet proof glass seemed a tad excessive, but then again this was Mummy they were talking about. John didn't notice it of course, he clambered straight in and when Sherlock didn't follow instantly he reached out and grabbed Sherlock's scarf, effectively forcing him into the car.

Admittedly he had been contemplating dashing off. The doors locked when they were closed. She knew him too well. John's mouth had found his neck and in seconds he had forgotten where they were going. Continuing apparently meant a had enough sense to move their suits out of the firing line anyway. "Thank God for sound proofing" John murmured into Sherlock's ear, grinning widely as he wriggled back into his suit, straining around the seatbelt he had managed to wear the entire time. He really was fascinating. Not only with the surprising flexibility but he had in fact noticed the opulence of the vehicle. Always a surprise. "Well if you could stay quiet that would be entirely unnecessary" John feigned an offended expression "I recall hearing the name John being shouted a few times? And you call me loud" Sherlock rolled his eyes and tied his scarf around his neck. "It's exactly 37.5 minutes until we arrive."

The slow panic had returned. What if she disapproved of John? True she had always doted on him but would that stretch to another, especially with the complex all mothers had about losing their sons, but she wasn't all mothers and John wasn't stealing him away, there was a possibility that rule only applied to other women taking sons from their mothers. "Stop thinking about whatever it is. I can feel you getting agitated you know. It'll be fine, talk me through it at least, maybe a sounding board will help" John soothed him, wishing he could just offer a cup of tea. Tea solved everything.

"What if she disapproves? Of you, of us, even of me? Though that last one is completely illogical. There has to be some way I can guarantee that she likes you, not that women have trouble liking you but this is different. You have fantastic posture which is good because she can't stand slouching. What if she thinks you're not intelligent enough for me, or too unsuccessful? But you'll be compared to Greg which is great because he cannot hope to compete but still there are too many variables!" John sat in stunned silence as the monologue played itself out into dark streams of muttering. "Sherlock, calm down. It's not like it's the end of the world, even if she hates me, which I hope she doesn't but if she does, I've survived Mycroft. He's not exactly my biggest fan but it hasn't changed anything between you and I, so don't think for a minute that I'll let whatever comes next change us either. Yours. No one else matters to be honest." Sherlock processed this, scrutinizing John's face for tells of deception, there were none. He took a deep breath and nodded, curls falling softly against his forehead.

"Okay then. When you said estate you were really serious? Jesus..." John breathed, mouth open at the splendour that was the Holmes estate. "Peacocks? You can't seriously think that I'd believe you grew up here? It's a palace for petes sake!" John guffawed as the car began the descent of the avenue. Lined with trees, the avenue provided both security and decoration, it also added to the mysterious air about the place. Through the gaps in the trees you could just make out a fountain here, an ornate pillar there. Sir Faowler Holmes had done a splendid job. That was what all the gentry and other nobility said when they appeared for a ball or banquet when Sherlock was younger. How he despised the place. It's one redeeming feature was in the back, hidden away from everyone. Even Mycroft was yet to discover where on earth Sherlock used to hide as a youth. Perhaps he would show John later if things became unbearable.

"It's an 18th century medieval manor actually. And yes both Mycroft and myself spent the first paltry years of our youth here. It was hateful." John nodded, although Sherlock wasn't sure if he quite understood. "Seems more like a museum than a home, kind of...cold,strange, foreign almost. It's a wonder you turned out as well as you did living there as a baby" John remarked absently as his gaze fixed upon the grey building. "Yes my nanny did a fine job of raising me, until she became too incompetent. I was not a child for long at all, she was necessary for three years only and then I simply took care of myself, Mycroft was away at school, Mummy doing business and Father... Also doing business of a sort." Sherlock's voice dripped with malice for his father but John chose not o dwell on it. Besides which they had arrived and a similar car pulled up next to theirs.

Climbing out of through car, John waved to Greg who looked a bit pissed off. "Kidnapped from work?" John asked sympathetically. "In front of three of my superiors to boot, I had no idea what was going on until about ten minutes ago when er.." he looked into the car at the woman sitting there, tapping away on her phone. "Anthea today I think" she chirped, not looking up but getting out and walking to the door. "right until Anthea handed me a tie and explained it. Thank God you're here at least, maybe we can survive this unscathed eh?" John laughed and Greg joined in, these were Holmes'. Not going to happen.

Sherlock glared and took John's sleeve, gesturing towards the door. "They're aware of our arrival, knowing mummy their in the drawing room." John mouthed drawing room to Greg who just nodded. He had lived in the place for over a month now and still the upper classness of it all seemed ridiculous. "Lead on then Sherlock" and with that Sherlock took off at the same superhuman pace he always did, leaving Greg and John to jog along on his coat tails. "Probably a good time to mention that Mycroft calls me by my full name" Greg blushed a bit and John just smiled "I figured he would, Greg is just not his style" Sherlock had paused at the front door and held it open for them, closing it deftly after them. The hall was dark reds and mahogany, filled with statues and portraits that were lavishly expensive. John could tell that this was unsurprising to Greg from the first second. "So how long have you been living here?" Sherlock smirked at John, pleased at the deduction. John's stomach always did somersaults at that little smile of approval. "Little over two months now yeah, it's been... Well it's been different." they were making there way slowly towards the twin staircase that wound elegantly above their heads.

Almost in unison Greg and John gulped, the prospect of meeting mummy Holmes was much more terrifying than it had seemed earlier. Sherlock noticed John straighten his shoulders just an inch, increasing his height and displaying his posture as they drew up to the door.

He clasped John's hand in his own as a woman's voice wafted out to them. "Do come in."

**A/N Hey guys, just like to say thanks for all the great feedback! Really does spur me on and hence, the fast update! In all honesty I've been on internet lockdown so that's why this is so long... sorry that nothing hapens, setting up to tell a little tale from Sherlock's past ;) If there's anything you'd like to see happening, you know where to find me -S**


	7. Dream a little dream of me Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was John in the end, who endeavoured to open the door to the drawing room. He stood back, allowing the other two men to enter before closing the door with a quiet click behind them. Mycroft was lounging in an armchair facing a large fire place while Mummy Holmes was in a chair by the window, her grey hair sitting in a sleek bun on her head. Mycroft addressed the party first.

It was John in the end, who endeavoured to open the door to the drawing room. He stood back, allowing the other two men to enter before closing the door with a quiet click behind them. Mycroft was lounging in an armchair facing a large fire place while Mummy Holmes was in a chair by the window, her grey hair sitting in a sleek bun on her head. Mycroft addressed the party first.

"Hello John, Gregory." he merely smirked at Sherlock and gestured to the sofas and chairs that littered the room. John chose to sit close to the door, a seat Sherlock was glad to remain near and in that mindset he flopped down on the sofa next to John, throwing his coat behind him. "Hello mummy. You've been keeping well I see. How were the Maldives, thoroughly unsatisfactory I take it." Sherlock did not ask any questions, he simply stated what he saw to be true, and her holiday had been awful. The hotel staff had been entirely incompetent and she had hated every minute of it. "Indeed. How are you Sherlock, I trust you've occupied your time with more" a quick flutter at John "reputable endeavours than when I saw you last?" Sherlock shrugged. "On occasion."

John and Greg sat staring at each other through the brief exchange, fascinated by the dynamic the family had. It was quite unsurprising that Mycroft and Sherlock were the way they were if this was anything to go by. Family gatherings could not have been jovial affairs. Mummy- as all parties in the room called her for the guests did not know her name, glided to a throne like chair, heading the group. From her perch she could survey everyone. "You must be Gregory, I have heard an awful lot about you from Mycroft, you're the only worthwhile thing he has to talk about, I'm glad get to meet you, usually he would make some excuse to avoid this" she laughed softly at Greg's incredulous look at Mycroft who stared intently at his phone. John and Sherlock shared a grin at his expense. "Yes hello, and you are?" Greg held out his hand and she shook it politely. "Please, call me mummy, makes things much simpler." Greg smiled and sat back down, hoping to draw her eyes to John who sat quietly, praying that he was inconspicuous.

"And you, you must be John Watson. I'm very pleased to meet you I must say! Mycroft has always had someone on his sleeve, although none as handsome as Gregory, but you my dear are the first person with my Sherlock. To think he has kept you from me! You must be something special, Sherlock is very guarded, in fact for years I thought that he was just not geared towards having relationships at all!" It was at that point that Sherlock cleared his throat loudly, a hint of a blush had spread itself across his got up and shook her hand warmly, smiling broadly. "I'm nothing special" he laughed, glancing back at Sherlock and grinning wider. "I can't take credit, we became friends thanks to him and after that well... Equally responsible." Mummy winked almost imperceptibly at him as he sat back down and Sherlock took his hand, stroking his thumb across the knuckles lightly. That was a thank you if John had ever gotten one. He knew his Sherlock struggled with it sometimes. Every little gesture filled him with happiness.

"So, dinner? There are sixty five restaurants in the vicinity that can be secured in moments" Greg looked at Mycroft and shook his head "No no your mother should get a home cooked meal. I'll go now, John? Any chance of a hand?" John nodded and smiled wryly at Sherlock before jumping to his feet and leaving, Greg on his tails.

"So. When, exactly, did you plan on telling me firstly that you had a friend who was willing to class themselves as such, and secondly that you two had entered a romantic relationship? Before you try and reproach me for earlier, he is your first relationship as far as I am concerned. That brief spat with that brute Sebastian in college was part of my reasoning that you would never be in a relationship, not after that night." Mycroft's face had gone stony at the first mention of Sebastian. The man had used Sherlock, at a time when he was confused and easily lead. Well, more easily. He had not learned how to control his feelings and had fallen under Sebastian's sadistic wing.

"Never would have been my plan on both fronts, thank you Mycroft for that by the way, and I myself would not ever consider Seb to be anything more than a grievous mistake that I will never and have never made again. I was 16, and college is a breeding ground for that sort. I learned my lesson, no one until John." He said it lovingly,as if just the name would express all his feelings for the man. To them it did, the drawled "John" could show every word he could never hope to express to John, and it was sometimes better than their compliments at expressing things."He has fantastic posture, ex-military?" and so they launched into the most amiable conversation they had ever had as a family, discussing the two men's boyfriends. Father would have turned over in his grave Mycroft thought to himself.  
In the kitchen John was sitting on a polished counter while Greg cooked. "I don't know what I was expecting... Certainly more hissing and glaring that's for sure. And Sherlock was worried she wouldn't like me." John scoffed, eating some jam off a spoon. "Yeah, it's gone surprisingly well... Still time. Can't get over it though, I'm the most handsome..." Greg struggled to find a word that didn't sound ridiculous to describe what he was to Mycroft. "Lover, Boyfriend, Live in mistress?" John offered, narrowly dodging the spoon Greg threw at him. "Very funny, partner" He smirked "Mycroft's ever had, power attracts some very attractive people and Mycroft is incredibly powerful... Seems a bit odd that average is the best he can do" John shrugged, returning the jam to it's rightful spot. "I'm not Sherlock's first you know. Mhmm. I hear him, sometimes,  
In the brief times he does sleep, crying out the name Seb. It's usually followed by some things I'll never repeat. In one sense I am his first, in the respect that this Seb person was evil. I can't tell you what he did Greg but... From what I can tell he was evil."John said it all quietly, in a tone that those who didn't know him would mistake for calm. Greg knew fury when he saw it and it took a lot to make John look that way. Greg didn't doubt that given the opportunity John would not hesitate to kill that man, slowly and painfully to boot. He had never known John to hate without reason to."I don't know exactly what happened obviously but, if you heard him. I won't ask him about it anyway, none of my business." John had the ghost of a smile on his face as he said that and Lestrade continued stirring. "I'd ignore this Sebastian myself, If he was bad news, he doesn't deserve to be recognized. Now strain that would you?"  
The dining room was just as extravagant as the rest of the house and according to Greg this was the small dining room. It was larger than all 221 Baker street combined. They sat with Sherlock and John on one side and Mycroft and Lestrade on the other. Mummy sat at the head of the table, a spot that suited her, but both Mycroft and Sherlock could have sat there if they chose to, both could have claimed the head of the house as being themselves. "So Gregory, I hear you're the Detective Inspector of New Scotland Yard! That's quite an achievement for someone as young as yourself" John zoned out of the casual conversation, focusing instead on the reactions the brothers had to certain topics. Mycroft gripped his fork harder when Greg's ex wife came up, and it was clear that Sherlock itched to interject when Greg forgot an important aspect of a case.

"What about you John, I hear that you were in the army" "Yes, Afghanistan. Beautiful country really, lovely people until they start shooting at you" She smirked at that, smirking must run in the family, John thought to himself. "Mycroft tells me you were quite the ladies man" Testing him. "I was, very stupid of me I think now, considering the fact that I could have had Sherlock all along otherwise but, what can you do?" She nodded very slightly and the conversation continued onto lighter topics for a while. "Sherlock, Mycroft, go and fetch dessert. Now, both of you, go on." Sherlock stared at John, the flicker of worry returning to his otherwise seamless facade. His eyes stayed on John's until Mycroft shut the door behind them.

"Now that they're gone it's my duty to say my piece and be done with it. I am very protective of my sons, Sherlock especially. I hope that I can trust you to keep Mycroft happy enough Gregory because I quite like you. However if, things turn bitter, I hope you will not take it as an offense to your person if I send a hitman after you" Greg creased his mouth for a moment and then nodded slowly. "John, you seem to be exactly what Sherlock needs. I hope that I can trust you to tread carefully. You may not realise it but you hold in your power a very fragile man, and he has been hurt before. I get the feeling that you could destroy him. Permanently. I am putting my faith in you to try your hardest because if he is hurt, I will personally find you." John already knew everything she said was true, could see the frailty of Sherlock's love through his wariness to do simple affectionate things, John could see his fear everytime. Not sex, that was almost easy, it was other things. Something made him wary of them, and John knew his name was Sebastian."I know" was all he had to say and she knew he understood.

"Alright then. I'm glad to get to spend some time with you both although I dare say I feel as if I know you both very well already." She smiled wryly at both of them as Mycroft and Sherlock returned. Perfectly timed. In his head John was beginning to think he had underestimated the mother of two brilliant men. In some shape or form she must be exceptional. Dessert passed in brief spats of conversation but it was clear that Sherlock and Mycroft were curious as to what Mummy had said to John and Greg. "It's getting late, about time we retired I think." Mummy rose and gave a gentle bow to the table and left, stalking up the stairs and into her room. Sherlock also rose, but he simply gestured to John to follow and as always, he did.

He ran along after Sherlock, twisting and turning down am endless stream of corridors until suddenly the wind hit him and they were outside. An enormous evergreen forest met them and Sherlock had disappeared into the trees. "Sherlock?" John whispered, he got the feeling that this was a secret. A curly head popped out from the tree trunk. It was a tree cavity. John smiled at the thought of a young Sherlock hiding in it to avoid eating his vegetables. "Do come in, I'll be closing the door behind us." John crouched low and crawled. It was bigger on on the inside, then again it was an enormous tree. "274 year old sequoia, perfect hide out. Mycroft would never have deigned to get his suit dirty long enough to find it." The hollow trunk was well furnished, there was a desk and chair, books and an old park bench all snugly fitted in with room to spare for walking around. "What did Mummy say to you?" Sherlock asked, face half turned away, perching on the bench. "She said to be careful, that you've been hurt before and that if I destroy you she will personally find me." Sherlock laughed dryly at that last, but the gesture didn't reach his eyes. "And now, you're wondering who it was, when it was, why it was? I'll tell you. Eventually." John dropped onto the bench beside him and took his hand. "Okay." And they watched the sunset together through the hollow in the tree.  
It as well past three am when Greg woke, his throat aching and dry. Careful so as not to disturb Mycroft, he rose and made his way to the kitchen. A soft noise gave him reason to pause. He stood, completely still and waited. Again the noise sounded from Sherlock and John's room. It didn't sound like anything good was going on. Tip-toeing Greg pressed an ear to the door and listened. "Seb... no... I... hurts" the quiet whimper was a sleeping Sherlock. "Shhhhh, it's alright Sherlock, I'm here, I'm here" he could hear John whispering to the clearly nightmare riddled man. Greg felt sick to his stomach as he walked away. What had this Sebastian done?

**Worlds longest A/N: I do like the idea of a past relationship haunting Sherlock in his sleep, mainly because he's not aware of it... I'm thinking I have an idea about what happened between Sherlock and Sebastian, although I'm not sure yet... Letting you know that I do read your suggestions and I'm working on them right now, probably be the in... 2 chapters, gotta have some continuity and what not! If you have any thoughts on... Anything? you know where to find me in, I know there's a lot of sitting about but, they're tired okay!? I know Mummy doesn't seem that bad but it's not how she would ordinarily act, it's just because she's app for them all. Last thing, as you know I've been on internet lock down for a week or so now, and that's why all of this is long and possibly terrible, they'll improve I hope, I'll try to to make it better! Thanks again for everything ~S**


	8. Dream a little dream of me Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greg had not slept at all, he replayed Sherlock's soft cries over and over in his head. If he hadn't before, he now fully understood John's hatred. It was apparently completely warranted. The bed was warm, stiflingly so, and as it had just turned six am, He figured it was an acceptable hour now to ask Mycroft."Mycroft?" Greg whispered, though they both knew he was awake. "Yes Gregory?" "I overhead Sherlock last night, crying out in his sleep..." Mycroft shifted towards him. "It's rather unnerving is it not? Now you are intrigued as to how on earth that could happen, how anyone could touch the untouchable correct?" Greg shook his head. "It's not that, although it was shock enough when he let John... No it's more the fact that he's so... Childlike in some ways and I don't know how someone could do something so horrible that he..." Mycroft sighed. Clearly it was time to tell Gregory the story. John would get it in his own time from Sherlock himself and that would be important for them both.

Greg had not slept at all, he replayed Sherlock's soft cries over and over in his head. If he hadn't before, he now fully understood John's hatred. It was apparently completely warranted. The bed was warm, stiflingly so, and as it had just turned six am, He figured it was an acceptable hour now to ask Mycroft."Mycroft?" Greg whispered, though they both knew he was awake. "Yes Gregory?" "I overhead Sherlock last night, crying out in his sleep..." Mycroft shifted towards him. "It's rather unnerving is it not? Now you are intrigued as to how on earth that could happen, how anyone could touch the untouchable correct?" Greg shook his head. "It's not that, although it was shock enough when he let John... No it's more the fact that he's so... Childlike in some ways and I don't know how someone could do something so horrible that he..." Mycroft sighed. Clearly it was time to tell Gregory the story. John would get it in his own time from Sherlock himself and that would be important for them both.

"I will tell you I suppose, although I only know some of it. I cannot tell you how Sherlock felt, or how it began. All I know stems from a single night. It was Sherlock's first year in college and even at 16 he was more brilliant than all the professors combined. In later years he actually took on a lecturer, and proved him wrong in front of the entire student body. I'm told it was quite back then was... More open, he had little to fear and had not yet learned that others were to be feared. Especially if you have feelings for them. It was almost comical, watching Sherlock get banned from the single person room he had procured for setting it alight the fifth time. If you ever happen to be near Oxford, the Talula Hughes house? You can guess who payed for that. Anyhow, that is why Sherlock ended up meeting Sebastian in the first place. He was in his final year, and his roommate had recently killed himself so there was space. Sherlock refused adamantly but in the end he had little choice in the matter. He had to live with him for the final month. He was incredibly intelligent Sebastian, a psychopath. I was there that first day, the college had called me to convince him that education was more important than his single room. I had some people help move his things in. Sherlock was in a huff, but he had not yet met Sebastian. I could not stay so I simply told him to keep me updated. After I left I'm not sure what occurred up to a point. Sherlock never spoke of it. It was the last night of May..."

Sherlock hated being locked in his mind palace. Sleep did that to him. It was incredibly boring. Especially when he knew what was coming. It was all Mummy's fault for mentioning him.  
He dreamt it as well as if he were really there, watching himself at 16. That Sherlock Holmes had no clue what was about to happen. Every time Sherlock had to watch himself, yet he could feel everything, see everything 16 year old him was seeing, hearing, thinking. He was standing outside the room he was to live in and there he was, Sebastian

sidled up to him, his eyes cold. Young Sherlock was enthralled by him. Understandable, Sebastian was a perfect specimen. Athletic build, sallow skin, short chestnut brown hair and those eyes. Ice blue, almost grey. He was a genius, Sherlock could tell right away and he was drawn to him. In his research late at night while Sebastian was away he figured out what it was. He had a crush. That was fine. He could deal with that, it was what happened after a solid week of not seeing Sebastian again that changed things.

Mycroft paused for breath, and Greg waited in silence, feeling fear creep up in his stomach as he realised where the story might be going. "In public, Sherlock was nothing. Less than nothing. Sebastian would physically recoil at the sight of him, call him a freak. Sherlock, for the life of him, could not figure out why he was doing that. He had no idea what a relationship was supposed to be like. He never questioned it which was ultimately his downfall"

Sherlock almost loathed himself more for enjoying what was about to happen next.  
Sebastian had stormed in after a long night partying and crushed Sherlock against the wall. Sebastian's hands were down his jeans and loosening him and before long he was writhing against Sebastian. It was rough and terrifying and Sherlock's first time and yet it felt amazing and he was coming and Sebastian was coming inside him and in the dark of their dorm room Sebastian dumped Sherlock on the floor and clambered into bed, leaving him confused yet satisfied and yearning for more. It was always sudden, like an onslaught of sleet on a cold day. Sebastian would arrive in and Sherlock would be bent over couches, against walls, over the table. He never saw the anger in Sebastian's eyes as he took him from behind every time without fail. Sebastian did not caress Sherlock, or kiss him or touch any part of him except his hips or his hair. A part of Sherlock needed him to. His touch would mean his approval and Sherlock so desperately wanted his approval. The idea of himself being so blind made him furious. Approval was for idiots, and Sebastian was not the type of person who's approval he should have wanted. The scene changed yet again. Sherlock began to quiver. He was afraid, still, after all this time, of what came next.

"He was possessed I suppose, by some belief in humanity. He assumed that this was the right thing to do. After all it would mean little, they had already crossed the threshold, this was a non issue. He wanted Sebastian to be... more" Greg was almost positive now. He found himself feeling rage boiling up in his stomach. He tried to lay still but Mycroft knew. "Try not to be so evident around Sherlock, he'll see right through you. That day I just happened to be nearby..."  
Sherlock could feel the cool summer breeze licking at his skin through the open window. The night was silent and the darkness was heavy, a thick blanket that smothered the world. In the end he didn't need to watch. He could still see Sebastian walking through the door, hear himself rush to meet him, feel his heart beating fast in his chest as he pressed his lips to Sebastian's for the first time. He could hear the resounding crack of Sebastian's hand across his face, the taste of salty tears mixed with blood filled his mouth. Sebastian was not yet finished. Sherlock heard the metallic zing of his butterfly knife opening as Sebastian threw him to the ground, growling insults and tearing his shirt apart at the seams, exposing his back. He felt the vibrations of his own quiet screams of pain as Sebastian sliced him with the knife in little jagged bursts. The sound of his laughter echoed off the walls, manic. Sherlock saw himself cowering, pleading, swearing never to do it again. He still remembered Sebastian cutting open his trousers and plunging inside him, he was unprepared and unprotected. Sherlock listened to his own whispers of pain and protest that were unheeded. Blood streamed down his back and Sebastian continued forcing himself into Sherlock, occasionally stopping to pour lemon into the cuts on his back or widen them. Sherlock remembered the disgust and terror he felt when Sebastian had left. He had lain on the floor for hours before texting Mycroft. He did not tell him about the rape. He didn't need to. As soon as it ended, the sequence started up again and Sherlock steeled himself to relive the pain and terror once. He had no choice. He was trapped in his head.

"I tried to take him to hospital of course but he refused. I simply had to let him take his time. He lay in that bed for two weeks, face down. He barely slept and when he did the nightmares plagued him, even worse than they are now. I could do nothing. Not even touch him. He was never the same, there was no one else. Only during his drug days did he even consider anything remotely sexual again and that was only for the drugs. Sebastian ruined him in one way, and made him in another. He owes his deductive science to Sebastian, the reason he became so paranoid of people that he had to know every little detail about them. I despise him with every fibre of my being, and so does mummy."

Greg was silent. He thought back to the day he had first seen Sherlock's back, the way he had covered up so quickly when he realised that his back, his history, was on display. "You cannot tell John this. I don't think he is aware of Sebastian." Greg almost laughed at that. Mycroft still believed John was a bit dim. "He knows about him, well enough to hate him. He doesn't sleep when Sherlock has nightmares. I heard him, rocking and comforting Sherlock in his sleep. He has no clue about what happened but, he still comforts Sherlock because he knows it's the right move." Mycroft smiled. "John always had a soft spot for helping those in need. Obviously loving my brother would bring out the protective side of him like almost nothing else does" Greg rolled closer to Mycroft, the story had made him crave touch, just to assure himself he could

have it, even though he knew Mycroft was not Sebastian. Mycroft pressed his hand into Greg's and they lay side by side. They never were the cuddling type.

"Shhh it's okay hun, it's alright, I'm right here, I'll always be right here" Sherlock woke to hear John's voice, whispering softly into his ear, arms wrapped tightly around him, one hand stroking his hair. "Hun?" John faltered for a moment and Sherlock turned to look at him. "Sherlock is a bit long to be saying all the time... Besides it suits you, sleeping you anyway." Ah. He had been obvious then, about what he was dreaming about. Sherlock quivered and shuffled closer to John, breathing in his smell. "Thank you. For holding me. It's... good. How long...?" John held him closer still, yawning slightly. "All night. I don't mind, I quite like holding you." Sherlock smiled down at John. "John" Sherlock almost purred the word and John grinned, kissing him softly before nestling down to catch a few hours sleep. His hand found Sherlock's ear and stroked absent mindedly at the lobe. Sherlock found himself growing drowsy. He did not protest when he fell into a restful sleep, dreaming of John calling him hun for the rest of his life. They still had four hours before it was time to make an appearance at breakfast.

A/N Well I didn't think this arc would be so long but a weekend is a long time... Just one or maybe two more and then back to the way it was before. At least you finally get the Sebastian story, now for some fluff to counteract? What activities will they do? Horse riding maybe? Or will I just continue from them leaving the estate? As always, you kno where to find me -S


	9. Chapter 9

The morning was blissfully uneventful, breakfast had been a quiet affair. It was when they were all seated around the table, nursing various mugs of tea and coffee that discussion about how to spend the day began. "We could ride after breakfast" Mycroft quipped, mouth slightly full. John met Greg's eyes as they stifled a giggle. Sherlock smirked. Mummy smiled a little, it had been a long time since Sherlock had ridden one of the horses and he was a natural. "Do you ride?" she asked, addressing the two chuckling men. "I've been on a horse before, but it was very slow. Might have been a pony" "There's a mounted division of the force so I have some basics... kind of..." Mummy just gave them both knowing looks and gestured to the glass door that overlooked the majority of the estate. "Now seems like as good a time as any, after all I plan on seeing you both during the holidays and we always ride then, it's a time honoured tradition." Her tone was rather serious, it was not really a request.

Mycroft looked at all of them, his eyes sweeping over the different suits at the table. "Sherlock and I will provide suitable attire. We shall reconvene in 20 minutes by the stables." With that, The four of them took off up the stairs. Mummy smiled after they had gone. She knew they wouldn't be able to resist this perfect opportunity to show off. It was their nature after all.

Sherlock surveyed the contents of the wardrobe, knowing well that Mycroft would have prepared for every possibility and sure enough, a pair of tough jeans and a soft, check shirt were hung next to a similar, but longer and darker pair of jeans and a loose white shirt. He tossed John his gear, eyeing the various footwear available. Riding boots, supple tan leather for John, his own charcoal. For someone as opposed to the social pastime of stereotyping as he was, Mycroft fit the conventional "gay" very well. John was already dressed by the time Sherlock turned around, he had been deep in thought after all. "I feel like I'm in one of those old western films you hate" John grinned crookedly as Sherlock handed him the boots and set about stripping and dressing again quickly. "The plot lines to those films are terrible, even an idiot like Anderson could figure out the ending. Besides which, you look much less irritating than they ever did." John laughed and Sherlock smiled openly, he so loved to make John laugh. "Let's go then."

Sherlock's hand entwined itself into John's as they strolled through the gardens. The stables were a mere dot on the horizon and having some more time alone was something Sherlock did not want to pass up. Even he had to admit that there was a fantasy like beauty to the place, beams of sunlight shone through gaps between trees, illuminating dust motes and giving the green glades a surreal glowing quality. The faint trickle of the river and birds chirping played in the background, and the occasional flower bush or bed added an explosion of vibrant colour to the landscape. John could see why Sherlock would have hidden outside when he was young, it was breathtaking. He had fallen into step with Sherlock and held him close. It was incredibly romantic, the quiet stroll to the stables was a much appreciated chance to enjoy just being near the other, able to look and smile and just be. They were comfortable to walk in silence, talking would have broken the spell somehow.

The journey was not long enough, and when they reached the stable John was almost disappointed that they had to go inside. Mummy, Mycroft and Greg were already saddling up when the arrived. Sherlock lead John past the half doors until they had reached the last two doors. "I'll show you how to mount" Sherlock said exuberantly, his excitement showing through. He strode confidently into the stall with a grey, it's white skin luminous. John watched in fascination at the gentle manner in which Sherlock crooned to the horse while he put on his saddle and bit. He could hear the others going outside, the steady clip clop of hooves on the ground peppered with a quiet swear from Greg.

He turned to look back and Sherlock was on the horse. He looked majestic, as if he had been born to ride, tall and princely. With a wry smile he tilted his head towards the next room and John made his way inside. The horse he was to ride was a dark chestnut. He was wary of it, but it's eyes were bright and welcoming, plus it stayed very still while he got on. John looked very much like a cowboy Sherlock thought to himself as he watched John maneuver the horse out of the stall and over to the door to stand next to his own steed.

The track was smooth, centuries of feet and hooves alike had worn it down. John was very thankful, he could only imagine the pain his legs would be in later if the jostling got anymore intense. So focused was he on staying on the horse that he didn't see at first just how incredible Sherlock looked. His curls and shirt were being tossed by the wind, glinting in the sunlight, and his form was perfect, as if the horse was an extension of himself. They were one, the slightest movement and the steed reacted, until the two were galloping through the forest with ease. John couldn't stop himself from staring, maybe it was just the amount of chick flicks he'd been subjected to in the past, but right now Sherlock could have been the knight on a white horse, come to save the day, and looking damn fine while doing it.

Trusting his instincts to guide him had always worked well in the past, so John kept to that philosophy on the horse. It worked pretty well, he didn't look anywhere near as graceful as Sherlock, but then again he never did. Eventually he managed to catch up and keep pace. "How is it that you manage to look graceful on horseback? Is there something you don't look graceful doing?" Sherlock smirked "No, I was subjected to the pastimes of gentry from an early age, equestrian, polo, croquet, ballroom dance, that sort. It was painfully boring but I picked them up with ease to avoid spending any time on them and then deleted the majority of the information, apart from equestrian. Horses are rather useful to me at times, I'm not particularly graceful at all." John raised his eyebrows and shook his head. "We both know you are, so denying it's pointless. Where are we off to?"

Sherlock acquiesced and looked around, mapping the estate in his head. "Forest track, leads to the lake, 5km ride, should take about an hour, the others are waiting for us up ahead" and sure enough, they were. They cantered into the forest at a leisurely pace, and soon jovial conversation broke out between them. Even Mycroft and Sherlock sniped at each other less. In fact, the weekend as a whole had been thousands of times more pleasant than either of the Holmes' were anticipating, Sherlock was pretty sure it had to do with John's charisma, he had a way with people in general, a likeablitiy that was near impossible to emulate. It made Sherlock wonder if he had have met John sooner, whether he could have maintained a relationship with his family beyond every fifth Christmas and the occasional surprise visit. He almost felt as if the concept of familial closeness was much simpler to achieve than the fighting and silence. More testing needed was the solution his brain supplied. As long as John was part of the equation he couldn't care less.

The lake front was lined with trees and shade, and as the sun beat down it was pleasant enough to sit amiably in the tall shadows, horses tethered together, watching the light dappled on the soft waves. The five of them were actually enjoying themselves, and when the time for lunch rolled around they had actually become quite a tightknit group, though secretly John was still a little scared of Mummy, the soldier in him kept the fear at bay. Something about the little looks Greg kept giving Sherlock when he wasn't looking made him dubious. Greg knew something. It dawned on him that he probably knew about Sebastian, Mycroft being the fountain of knowledge that he was. John allowed that thought to slip his mind as they trooped back to the horses and onwards for lunch. T

he stables were surprisingly cool, and while everyone else cleaned their horse, Sherlock galloped down the fields and back "Vain git" John muttered, at which he heard at least two distinct laughs. Again he couldn't tear his eyes away and barely clocked that he was alone in the stables until Sherlock rode to a halt in front of him. His pale cheeks were flushed and when he lead the horse into it's stall John followed, leaning against the door frame. Sherlock spun to face him and John raised an eyebrow and smiled.

Sherlock's cheeks were still flaming and John wanted to inflict more damage. He closed the space between them with slow strides, backing Sherlock against the wall and reaching around to his neck, moving his face down to meet his own. Their lips met, innocent at first. A gentle and playful display. That ended when Sherlock pressed John closer to him, holding him in place and moaned softly into his mouth. John's tongue was on Sherlock's lower lip instantly, and there was no hesitation until he was granted access. The kiss deepened until both were breathing heavily and Sherlock had flipped their positions, putting himself in control. His mind palace was buzzing with John, every nonplatonic thought he'd ever had, what he liked, his reactions, like John was the only thing in the world that mattered. In a strange way, he was. Experimentally, he rolled his tongue against John's and if the ensuing pressure against his thigh was anything to go by that was one to remember. Wouldn't be difficult, John was one area that would never have a single moment deleted from his brain. John's hands had slithered under his shirt, stroking his stomach and back, pulling him closer. His mouth was moist and warm against Sherlock's, and he was breathless, heart pounding as he struggled to get closer, wanting more, wanting to be entwined and never let go. He very nearly had his way, John was already succumbing to the light push towards the hay covered floor when there was a quiet cough from the door. John had turned bright red when Sherlock broke away to see Mummy watching them with an intensity in her gaze that would have made lesser men crumble. "Lunch?" she inquired, thankfully not commenting.

Sherlock shooed her away, planting a soft, sweet, apologetic kiss on John's lips. "I'm taking you for a walk in the gardens later and then we'll go home." He took John's hand and lead him back to the house. Lunch was a Thai dish and afterward everyone seemed to have their own plans. Mycroft and Anthea (who had appeared in the background out of nowhere) were discussing work in one corner, Greg was washing up and Mummy was reading. Sherlock was thankful that the others had no plans to tour the gardens, not only would it be a great distraction from reading his past trouble in Greg's puffy eyes and mis-buttoned shirt, it would be some more time with John aside from anything else.

More time before he was back on cases and ignoring him, more time before John would go to the clinic for a day or two. It was a very surreal feeling, not being bored without a case. Sherlock kept waiting for the boredom to come, but these days it never did, and Sherlock was becoming increasingly aware of the reason. John, feelings, memories, all suddenly filled the unoccupied moments in his head. Shockingly, he didn't mind. He quite liked it in fact. There was something, something tangible beneath it all, and he did not as of yet have a label for it. These were the things that ran through his mind as he strolled over the gravel path that lead to the gardens, John's hand clasped lightly in his. The sun was just beginning to set, pink light made the whole expanse of land glow. Sherlock did not notice. He was busy, watching John, and how content he was.

The hedge maze had always been a favourite of Sherlock's, the physics of it all had been a great occupier of time when he was seven, especially when hiding after an experiment gone awry. The chemical spill had been one to remember, with Sherlock hiding for two days at the center because he was the only one that could get there. The maze had been specifically designed for him when Mummy had realised his abilities, her own little experiment. He remembered she had almost seemed pleased when it came out that he had been there the entire time. The centre of the maze was tranquil, the perfect spot for thinking. It housed a small conservatory and fountain that were surrounded by a sea of green. John was in awe of the ease with which Sherlock navigated, just as he had been during the first case. The maze was so very silent, it reminded him of Afghanistan in that respect. T

hey ended up in the conservatory, with Sherlock's head on John's lap while they sat on the sofa. Sherlock fiddled with the leather bracelet on John's wrist, His army tags were attached to it and John never took it off. Sherlock felt John chuckle. "You have this fascination with it, my bracelet." Sherlock looked up at him "Every letter has a part of places you've been ingrained into it. Sand from Afghanistan, Dust from London, even some of our cases have a place in the engravings. If even one of them had been different we might never have met, and I would never have seen what I was missing out on." They lapsed into silence. "Well, neither would I." he leaned down and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. "Thank you, by the way. For all of this. I'll remember it when we have cases and you ignore me" he laughed briefly "Is it terrible that I'm excited to go home, and I'm hoping there's been a murder?" Sherlock grinned at that. "You are constantly surprising me John, constantly surprising."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we'll be back to Baker street next chapter, it's been too long. A case, that's what I'm thinking... prepare for a wild ride... Keep the ideas coming! -S


	10. Chapter 10

The dwindling light only added to the atmosphere of the whole thing, the only light was from the tip of his cigarette. The ash would be enough to identify him, so he tipped it into his pocket. The spotlight was a nice touch, he had to admit that it gave the whole show an audience, even if it wasn't the right kind. He giggled,pouring the sand at a steady pace. The funnel had been a stroke of genius, there was no mess left if he used that. The worst bit came after, resewing the top layer of skin and muscle back to the rest was time consuming, but necessary for the full enjoyment. That way the uniforms stayed clean. Still giggling in a high pitched voice he dragged over the new sewing machine he had made. It whirred and hissed as it punctured the sinewy muscle with thread. While that did it's job he pressed the jacket and trousers again, pinning the medals to it and prepared the scaffolding for the main event. A single beep broke the heavy silence. It was pulled the clothes onto the captain with practiced hands, and the knots he tied were stronger than ever. His favourite part had arrived. Flicking the camera on he began the show, pulling the strings, making the captain move and dance, his body limp as a ragdoll but for the addition of sand. He moved in grotesque jerks, mouth sewn shut, eyes wide open as they had been at the moment he had died. When he was finished he tossed the body back on the ground, methodically stripping and draining it of sand. Satisfied that the outcome he wanted would be achieved by this, he walked out, into the black night and faded once more into the shadows.

John opened the door to 221b and sighed. The old smell of tea, burning and a faint hint hydrochloric acid was comforting, and he had missed it while they'd been away. Sherlock swooped in behindhim and settled himself onto the couch, lying back, hands steepled under his chin in a familiar pose. "Coffee?" John asked, already having the kettle on for tea. Sherlock didn't respond, but that was usually a yes so John carried his coffee -black, two sugars- over to him. Sherlock accepted the cup and placed it on the small table. John slipped into his armchair and opened his laptop. "Blogging about our exploits?" John laughed "I don't think people want to hear about how fantastic you look on horseback quite honestly, although the photo I took is really something... No, just letting people know we're back if there's any cases" Sherlock furrowed his brow. "I don't remember you taking a photo..." John winked at him "That was the point."

Sherlock pouted a little but he couldn't keep it up. "We've been gone a whole weekend, with the only semi competent DI in the yard. There's bound to be something good, perhaps a nice triple murder. Not good?" He asked as John stared at him, eyes wide. "A little bit not good yeah... I'm more surprised that I agree with you. Been too long since we have been almost shot or blown up. You start to miss it" John called with a shrug from the kitchen. It was only partly sarcastic. Sherlock chuckled and sipped at his coffee. Mrs Hudson trundled up the stairs with post and biscuits for them. "Boys a man was here for you earlier, said that he was with the police" she said, plopping a plate of biscuits down. "Did he leave a name of any sort?" Mrs Hudson smiled when John handed her a cup of tea. "Thank you dear, no Sherlock, but I'm sure that Lestrade fellow who's always coming round will appear at some point" Sherlock sighed and dropped his head back onto the armrest. Lestrade would be back at the yard within the hour and until he arrived there and heard about the case, they would have nothing to do. Well, almost nothing Sherlock smirked to himself. It had been a whole caseless weekend and they hadn't had an opportunity to do anything, with the exception of that one moment in the stables. Sherlock listened, smiling to himself , as John and Mrs. Hudson chatted amiably about the days they had spent at the estate.

"Well I'll be off, Mrs. Turner and I are going for tea" The old lady closed the door softly behind her. Sherlock tossed restlessly on the couch, he wasn't bored persé, but the extent to which that state would last was as of yet untested. John was probably the best distraction he had, and there was a slight chill in the flat, the two days of disuse had left it feeling empty. As John marched past with his mug,Sherlock grabbed it from his hands and stood it next to his own before dragging a befuddled John down to lie on the couch with him. "I'm pretty sure that we've discussed it, but in case you decided to delete it, you can actually ask me to come and lie with you or whatever, The chances of me saying no are less than two percent, the exception being when I have work. Just so you know." John's lips ghosted a smile against his neck. Sherlock's breathing hitched just slightly, even now the shock of small physical displays of affection that didn't have any motive behind them was immense. John's nose was against his neck now, breathing in the warm scent that was a devastating mixture of lemon, violin resin, cinnamon and just a hint of something purely his own. Calloused hands flittered across his jaw, his cheekbones, his lips. So warm. It was overwhelming at times for John, the fact that he could do this, that he was trusted enough too. Another excellent point for his John room, the fact that John would forgo anything else, just to be near him. No sex, nothing but soft kisses and whispers of skin on skin. It was beginning to dawn on them both. They might actually be in love with each other. Not that either would admit it to themselves, let alone the other.

A car door slammed on the street outside. "Lestrade's here." Greg flew up the stairs to 221b with a manila case file in his hands. Sherlock and John were at the door and waiting for him, shifting impatiently from foot to foot. "How many?" Sherlock asked as Lestrade handed the file over. "Four over the course of the month. Latest victim was found an hour ago by a concerned neighbour." Sherlock didn't open the file, he never did. "Who's on the scene?" In his head John was praying that it wasn't Donovan. "Anderson and Donovan plus the rest of the forensics team." Sherlock pouted for just a milisecond before pulling his scarf on "We'll be behind you." Greg nodded and rushed back down the stairs, Sherlock and John on his tails. They had barely hit the pavement when a taxi pulled up. "How do you do that?" John muttered to himself as Sherlock leaped inside. "Follow that police vehicle."

The scene was a small house on the outskirts of London. John paid the cabbie and smiled as he ducked under the police tape that was being held up by Sherlock. Donovan was staring at them and snickering, and John bristled for a moment before Sherlock stepped in. "Donovan! I see you're scrubbing floors again with Anderson. I take it his wife is out of town? Oh she's not out of town, but you liked the added danger of getting caught!" Sherlock cried gleefully as they sauntered past and into the house, leaving a blushing Donovan behind. John was chuckling to himself and Sherlock was grinning when they went inside the sitting room. John's laugh died on his lips. Lestrade began talking "Male, age approximately 35, still no ID..." John butted in there. "I know him. Sergeant Charles McNamara, 5th fusiliers brigade. My old company in Afghanistan." John had gone pale, and Sherlock could feel his weight leaning against him. He took over from there.

"No living family, recently returned from military service due to injury..." Sherlock was bent down, scrutinizing the body. "Poison was initial cause of death, administered through the tea that spilled on the ground by the door, marking on his wrists suggests postmortem binding, his shoulders are dislocated, also postmortem... Lestrade take of his jacket. You have gloves, take it off right now." Sherlock could see the glint of grains in his mouth. He had at least four ideas. Lestrade sighed and peeled away the jacket, stuffing it into an evidence bag. He recoiled when he saw the torso and John swore and turned away.

"The stitching indicates the use of a machine, If he is examined you'll find the body is lined with a residue of sand." Sherlock swept about the room and stopped at the back wall. "Scaffolding. Why would... Oh. That's new." Lestrade looked up from his notes. "What's new?" Sherlock's eyes gleamed. "This killer is playing Puppet Master." By now John had distanced himself in his head from the person on the ground and was able to appreciate the deductions once more. "That's brilliant" he said and Sherlock visibly puffed up with pride. "The other victims?" Lestrade flipped through his notes. "Various ages, none look too similar, different schooling, residences are scattered across London, only connection is they were all in the military" John whipped around. "Let me see them" Lestrade handed over the folder and watched as John's eyes crumpled up in recognition. "All of these men were in my company. All of them. There's only two more people left alive from it now. Harold Thomson and me."

Sherlock tried very hard to rein in the fear that was welling up in his gut, spreading and flowing through his body like a river. "Is there anyone that would have a vendetta against your company, or you personally?" John was about to say no, Sherlock was praying he'd say no. He didn't know why, he knew there was no God, no higher power. In those moments of uncertainty, and the feeling that the floor was about to collapse beneath him, he prayed that John would say no. But he didn't. In his head he saw the scarred face of the man who'd had to shake his hand, the malice that had lingered in his eyes as he strode out into the blistering heat and never returned. John's eyes, an electric blue rose and met Sherlock's, and all he could read was skewed by the uncertainty and guilt he saw, prevalent even through the plethora emotions that presented themselves in John's eyes. John cleared his throat."There's only one man. Sebastian Moran."

A/N Is that cliffy? I don't know! Just thought I'd mention that they stayed the night at the estate so this would be the next day. I did say it would be a wild ride, so get ready... -S


	11. Chapter 11

Moran. The name was heavy on John's tongue, bitter tasting and solid. It pressed down on his lungs, constricting his breathing until he remembered that a panic attack was not something one wants to happen in front of your best mate and partner. Not exactly appropriate to freak out over a dead friend either. He almost laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation. John hadn't had a panic attack since he had met Sherlock and yet, The name. Even the name was enough to incapacitate him completely, shoving him headfirst into a terror. Breathe Watson, breathe. Same techniques as ever, yet it was impossible to breathe, not when the taste of blood in the air was mixed with sand. His PTSD had been triggered by this before, but never so acutely. Quietly he staggered to the wall and slid down it, sticking his head between his knees.

Sherlock watched with interest, he had every intention of attempting to soothe John, but a scientific mind finds stimulation in odd places, and John's panic attack was intriguing on a personal and scientific level. Lestrade was staring at him incredulously, disbelief plastered his face as Sherlock simply watched the events unfold from a distance. Sherlock attempted to warn Lestrade to be wary, he knew touching an army veteran during one of these attacks could be detrimental to your health, mainly your heart's ability to beat. The whispered words of caution were unheeded as Lestrade walked over and placed a hand on John's shoulder. Sherlock sighed at the inherent stupidity of normal people. John's arms already had Lestrade's airways cut off and looked to be on the cusp of breaking his neck when Sherlock stepped in, soothing John with his voice until he managed to pry the hands from around an almost unconscious detective. "Ah. You touched his scar Lestrade." Sherlock said to the coughing Detective.

John had been snapped out of his panic and was sitting, arms wrapped tightly around his face in the farthest corner of the room. "Jesus, I'm so sorry Greg I don't know what came over me, I'm so sorry" John repeated over and over like a mantra as the detective got his breath back. "S'fine" he managed to say croakily. Sherlock stayed relatively quiet. "What, exactly, does this Moran have against you?" John sighed, hands steadying, his response to danger that he could handle. "It's a long story." He sighed wearily as Sherlock perched on the edge of the stuffy old sofa that was the only useable furniture in the room. Lestrade rubbed at his neck and leaned against the door, telling forensic analysts to stay out for a while. John began his tale.

"We were friends at first, basic training makes you grow into a unit, it's kind of the point. You're brothers and sisters by the time you ship out. There was something about him that made me wary, but I thought nothing of it, I mean, we're trained to kill people. Sebastian was something else. Not that we realised at first..." John peetered out into silence, staring blankly at the wall opposite. A small cough from Lestrade and he was back, shaking his head to clear away the images collected there.

"Noticing Sebastian in the corps was simple: he had people drooling over him all damn day. Objectively he was good looking, in a war scarred sort of way. I think it was his eyes that got people though, one brown and one blue crossed with a jagged scar from a knife attack. There was that and his talent. He was, still is, the sharpest shooter I've ever seen. He put instructors to shame, like a one man army. I was second best, and we kind of had it out for each other, trying to... Almost impress the other. I was a doctor, sure, but a soldier first. Helping people took a backseat during that first month, up until my first death." He shuddered, as if he disgusted himself. "Still, Moran and I were competing. He got his own battalion, and I got mine. They disappeared off base for a mission and that was fine with me, ten less men to worry about treating. It was around that time that skirmishes began to become more frequent, land mines, carbombs, enemy fire. I worked hard, fought hard, and people respected me for it. I was a damn good soldier. Sebastian came back with his squadron, minus a couple, and I kept my distance. That wasn't going to last." Sherlock's ears pricked up. Anger, bitterness, disgust, all cataloged away for later inspection.

"We were to head of a raid, enemy compound that contained a lot off explosives and hostiles. Heavy fire, low visibility." John could hear the patter of rounds firing, shouts of Arabic rising and seething out over the dull thunk of the trigger. He wondered if Sherlock would hear it too, just by looking at him. "It took time, and we lost a few men on the field, but almost all of the freedom fighters had been either killed or disarmed and charged. The smoke was clearing slowly, and I stumbled into a building off to the side. When my vision cleared I made out three shapes in the collapsed heap that it was and advanced slowly. I needn't have bothered. It was Sebastian and two of our own. I was about to call out when he raised his gun and murdered them. Murdered them both. Our men. I snook out as quietly as I could and rounded everyone else up so they wouldn't be alone with him. Especially the wounded. I carried two men home over my shoulders that day so he wouldn't touch them." A small laugh escaped his lips, the peal had an unearthly quality to it, the empty room had not been host to much laughter of late.

"We'd shaken hands that morning, laughed around a fire with those men and they were dead. I couldn't stop thinking about it when we got back, so one morning I told my superiors about it before I went to bed after the watch. They said they'd look into it and when they did sure enough the men had our bullets in them. I was almost asleep when I realised he was there, eyes locked on me. He didn't say a word, just lit a cigarette and puffed on it for a while before grinning at me and dropping it into the sand. He only said four words - see you later captain. I wasn't even captain at the time... He disappeared after that. Gone into the desert and no one saw him again. He was in line for captaincy, a near ultimate authority. Anything he said..." Sherlock finished "would have to be obeyed on pain of death." John nodded. " Now he's back and I'm going to see him again, I thought he was dead until I saw this and... It's him. Clearly he's some sort of psychopath." Lestrade stared at John, trying to figure out how best to protect him for Sherlock, and the Yard's sake.

" He walked into the desert and disappeared, yet no one questioned it?" John met his gaze "No. He went through sleepy hollow." Lestrade began another question but Sherlock answered it. "Soldiers go there to commit suicide obviously, shooting themselves. All he had to do was fire a shot and he wouldn't be disturbed because no one would venture there without the intent to remain indefinitely." Sleepy hollow was a nice name for the escape that it was for some people who were in the mindframe to do it, it was strange that no one was stopped though. Their tour must have had some very sympathetic heads to allow suicide. "Interesting. Didn't think people dug there own graves any more but they do in this sleepy hollow apparently." John nodded, grimacing before pushing himself up off the floor. "Can we..." he gestures to the door. Sherlock looked to Lestrade who just nodded that they could leave.

He was worried, a deep seeded root in his stomach about this whole situation. As he fell into the front seat of the patrol car he wondered if texting Mycroft would get him hit by the younger Holmes. John was evidently exhausted when they reached Baker street. His eyes drooped low and Sherlock could tell his shoulder ached. He shepherded him straight to their room and watched while John fell calmly into sleep in minutes. The episode had probably taken a lot out of him. His phone buzzed, Lestrade needed his deductions from today and a statement from last time plus an incident report for pushing Anderson down a flight of stairs. John would sleep the night and Sherlock was better off going where he wouldn't disturb the slumber. He planted a soft kiss on his head and turned on his heel. John didn't wake when he slammed the door, nor when the window creaked. He didn't wake when the door to the bedroom was swung open. He did wake to the feeling of cold steel against his neck and one blue,one brown eye peering into his own. "Hello captain."


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Graphic scenes of violence ahead

"Sebastian." John said, the slight crack in his voice giving away the terror he was trying to hide. Sebastian laughed, the noise echoing through the empty apartment. "Didn't think you'd be seeing me again?" John stayed silent, weighing up his options. Was it worth it to end the game early and die now rather than wait for the inevitable to come? "Then again, I didn't expect you to meddle in my affairs again. Just couldn't help himself could he, had to solve the case, Jim was the better man, should've won. Don't worry though John, I'm here now to finish his job. Burning the heart out of Sherlock Holmes and killing you. Funny that, how my interests fit with his so well." John frowned. Burn the heart... Oh. He was Sherlock's heart. "Don't cry Johnny boy, the tin man didn't really need a heart anyway." "I'm not crying Sebastian, but more to the point, why are you here?" Sebastian growled and pressed the steel harder against his throat. One cut and he'd bleed out. "I am here to finish what Jim started. But I plan on having a little fun first." he whispered, sickly sweet breath invading John's nostrils until he felt ill. John couldn't move for fear of being slashed across the neck, nor could he speak without the pressure increasing. Smiling, Sebastian's left hand went into his pocket. John had not noticed the cylindrical shape that protruded from it before, Sherlock would have. There was a hiss as Sebastian lifted the canister to his face and the air became foggy. John's vision blurred and he felt as if he were swaying, lines between objects softening until the world was one giant mess of colour. "Don't you worry Captain. I have big plans for you." The voice swirled round in his head until a vacuous dark fell on him and there was nothing more.

Sebastian was pleased to find the new gas worked even better than the last, the twelve minutes of hallucination had really been a spanner in his plans. Now that Watson was asleep he could finally take a look around the place he had watched for so long. It felt surreal being inside after staring through windows for such an extended period, Like a film star at a premier. The game was simple. Sebastian had calculated it all very carefully, he had promised Jim that if there came a point where he was out of the picture that he would take over. The genius would be compelled to search for his blogger and his brother would provide a perfect middle man, his extensive cctv would finally have a use. Jim had gifted him all of his favourite toys, using them to fulfil his wishes seemed rather appropriate. The upstairs room housed John's uniform and though it was not integral in the scheme of things it was a personal touch, a warning. He bounded down the stairs with it in his arms and dressed the unconscious doctor in it, glaring at the captain's badge on his sleeve. That was the place to begin. When he was fully clothed Sebastian tossed him on the sofa and ate some food, knowing it would at the very least rile Holmes. Lighting a cigarette, Sebastian leaned back against the counter and looked at the London streets far below, filled with people who had no clue how very different their days would have gone had John not returned. There was no need to be cautious now, his audience would be watching carefully regardless, glued to the screen. He giggled, the motion wracked his body for a minute or so and then he sidled back to the couch. He threw the limp form over his shoulder with ease, constant training and exercise had made him incredibly strong. Jim had liked the muscles. Sebastian tightened his grip around John and slammed the door shut with a low click.

Sherlock had taken his time with the incident report, after all he hadn't actually pushed him, he had simply brushed past with the knowledge that his equilibrium was off already. Lestrade had sat across from entire time, filling in similar forms. They were compainionable in their own way, a deep friendship that had formed over many years, but nothing close to how he had first felt about John. Rightly so, John was much more intelligent than Lestrade, and kind, and brave to boot. "If you keep sighing I will have to kick you" Lestrade said wearily. He just wanted to go home and have dinner alone with Mycroft for the first time in a good five days. Sherlock hadn't realised he had been sighing at all, but maybe he had been. He signed the bottom of the page with a flourish and handed it to Lestrade. "Call if Moran strikes again." with that he was gone in a dramatic flurry of coat tails and clicking heels. If there was ever a reason to go home John was it. Even in sleep he was what Sherlock wanted, needed even. If Sherlock straggled into bed as the sun rose John simply moved over to make room for his against his skin. That was what Sherlock was looking forward to on the drive home.

While the Moran case was interesting by it's own merit, they knew the culprit and his main motives. All they could really do was wait to see where they could catch him and then do that. Not exactly worth missing quality John time over. Sherlock almost recoiled at the thought, he sounded awfully dependant. John wouldn't mind. Back at Baker street he took the steps two at a time, long legs barely whispering against the steps in his attempt to preserve the silence.

He opened the door and a light breeze rolled across his face, the window was open. The window was open. It had not been open when he left, it had been opened from the outside. "John?" the apartment still smelled of John, but there was something more there, a tangy metallic taste that was common with anesthetic, cigarette smoke and a sickly sweet note of decaying fruit. Sherlock's heart was beating hard in his chest, pounding against his ribcage and threatening to beat the oxygen from his lungs. Someone had been in John's old room. Sherlock bounded up the stairs and almost fell to the floor when he reached the open door. Slowly but surely John had been moving his clothes and books into their room, leaving only his army gear behind. The wardrobe was empty. It was as if he was in a dream when he walked down the stairs again, his feet moving mechanically towards the bedroom where he'd left John less than a few hours ago. He had known before opening the door that the bed would be empty, the body that should have lain there gone, long since.

Sherlock fell to his knees, faster than he had that day by the pool, but he didn't even register the feeling of his knees thumping the ground. John was gone. His phone buzzed softly, more and more insistent. He tore it out of his pocket and held it up to his ear, ready rolled spit venom at whoever it was. Mycroft's voice came through, and even Sherlock could hear that all was not quite well. "Sherlock, I take it John's disappearance has come to your attention as it has to mine. It would be best if you came to the club." Sherlock paused. "How did it come to your attention?" "Someone has hacked into the cctv system and is sending video footage live as we speak." Sherlock was running, feet tearing the pavement apart in his race to get to the club. Mycroft's voice was fluff in his ear and people were of no importance as he shoved them out of his way, mapping London in his head.

John awoke in a dark room, the sound of dripping water tethered him to reality once again. He tried to move, but he could only struggle slightly against the belts that held his limbs in place. The fabric against his skin was very much familiar. He tried to raise his head but found that was impossible. He could however just barely see himself in the mirrored ceiling. The army uniform. Of course. Tiny red lights pulsated from various points around the room and John could tell instantly that they were cameras. A door creaked open and he tensed, preparing for what was coming. The clack of steel wheels on stone flooring caught his attention. As Sebastian wheeled the trolley of implements around so he could see them John wondered if he'd be as susceptible to torture as everyone else was. They had been briefed on it in the army of course but that would mean Sebastian knew what he would expect, what he would be doing to cope and how to get around that. He had had this nightmare before.

Sherlock arrived at the diogenes club in under fifteen minutes, sprinting to the last. Mycroft's lackeys were waiting at the door for him and simply pointed to the farthest door down. Inside Mycroft was staring intently at the screen while Lucia (Anthea as John called her) sat in the corner, texting furiously. Sherlock sat in the chair across from Mycroft and made to turn the screen around but Mycroft's hands stopped his with a soft but firm movement. "Before you watch brother I have to implore you to see past the events and into the setting, the mind of the man behind the glass. It will not be easy, and it will not be pleasant." Sherlock's knuckles were white, his whole body screamed of tension and fear. He nodded mutely and Mycroft pressed a button, sending the projection onto a large screen against the wall. The room (building clearly old, not in disrepair yet, almost empty) was very dark, but the camera was perfectly positioned to catch the only are where light shone: John. He was covered in sweat and convulsing, his whole body spasming. His mouth remained shut however. Sherlock wanted to laugh at his stubbornness, always a soldier his John, even when he's being electrocuted repeatedly... Sherlock tore his eyes away from that and focused on the surroundings instead. The table John was on looked medical or prison grade, more likely medical judging by the height of it. No windows but the door was steel, locker of some sort? Convulsion could be attributed to cold temperature. Sherlock kept wandering back to John, wincing every time the taser hit his skin. Tears welled up in his eyes and his whole body felt hollow, like the whole of his organs had been scooped out. His hand reached instinctively to the screen and rested on John. Mycroft made no attempt to move him.

John steeled again for the shock, teeth firmly pressed together though it felt like they would just drop out of his skull at any moment. He was not relieved when no shock arrived. That meant boredom. That meant a new sensation, a new wound. He could hear the thunk of wood on skin as the vibrations rattled and the sound slapped his ears. A beating he could handle. That would almost be a blessing. The mirrors did not help him identify exactly what it was he was going to face, Sebastian's body curled over it like a mother over a child.

Sherlock and Mycroft could see it however from the safety of the office. Sherlock gasped as the metal points glinted at the camera. "No!" he whispered, hands clutching fruitlessly at the projection. Sebastian's arm rose high above his head and flew down with force against John's abdomen. John didn't feel anything yet, but he soon would. He maintained his silence as nails bit into his skin, tearing into the muscle beneath. Sherlock stared at the movement on his face, there was no sound but he could tell that Sebastian was laughing. His hands wrapped around the handle once more. Sebastian twisted, pressing the nails deeper until they hit the nerves and Captain John Hamish Watson screamed.

A/N: When I started this story I didn't really expect it would go this way but what can ya do? The pov can be a bit confusing but hopefully you can kind of tell who's telling what.


	13. Chapter 13

Greg was just about to leave the yard when his phone buzzed.

John taken by Moran. Live feed established. At the club with Sherlock. Your presence is not unwanted, a car will arrive momentarily -MH 

Greg's face fell. John was one of his closest friends and by the formality of Mycroft's text, the situation was dire. He could not help but wonder what Sherlock would do if the worst really did happen. Then again, there are worse things than death. There wouldn't be video if John was being left alone. Sherlock would be forced to watch, he'd need to so he could crack the case but the cost... Greg had spent a lot of time thinking about how many ways John Watson had changed Sherlock for the better, after all he had never been this happy or kind-ish ever before. To lose one is to lose the other too. He would solve it, of course he would. He's bloody Sherlock Holmes, how could he not?

"Detective, are you alright?" Donovan popped her head around the door, having seen him standing still for a good ten minutes. "Hmm? Oh what yeah no I'm eh I'm fine" Sally frowned. "You sure? Did the freak do something?" Lestrade bristled, and then exploded. "No Donovan actually, he didn't do anything, just like he never actually does anything properly wrong! In fact if you want to know, he's been the victim of a crime! Guess who some psychopath has decided to torture while Sherlock watches via video feed because he wants to save them? Oh, hmmmmmmm let me think, it could only be John, the only person who Sherlock actually cares about because John is the only person who sees past the weird bits! So no, sergeant Donovan. No, Sherlock- because his name is Sherlock and he's not a freak- didn't do anything. If you'll excuse me I have a criminal to catch." Sally stood, eyes wide, as Greg finished yelling and threw his coat on with a bit more force than was exactly necessary and rushed out, leaving a very confused office full of people in his wake.

A sleek black car rolled up and Greg slid inside, still seething. He was really angry at himself, after all they knew Sebastian would come after John but he'd thought it would be that Harold guy first, he thought they had time to prepare. He put his face in his hands and was silent the whole way.

Sherlock was shaking, eyes rimmed red with the tears that refused to fall, yet were still created. John's breaths were shallow and fast, and even Mycroft could see the effort it was taking for him to lie still when his whole being was screaming that he should curl up into a ball to avoid being attacked again and to try let the wounds clot. "Any ideas?" Mycroft asked in a brief respite from the torture. "Three. I want to be certain, and I want to go now but... I might be wrong. What if I am wrong and I go and while I'm gone..." he didn't need rolled finish that sentence. Mycroft too feared that this may well be the last they saw of John Watson. He could only imagine how short a time his brother would remain if that were to occur. Most likely only long enough to kill Moran, and then himself. "I do not doubt you Sherlock, this is your John. You will not fail him." Sherlock turned to look back at the screen and prepared to search again.

John squeezed his eyes shut momentarily, forcing himself to remain conscious, even if it meant being awake for more. God he could hear him laughing, the same lilting laughter that Moriarty employed. Bile rose in his throat at the squelching noise the nail covered paddle made as it exited his flesh. The blood began running out of the holes and down his stomach, soaking into the fabric of his uniform until it was an unrecognizable shade of burgundy. He counted the pain points. Nine nails then. Sebastian poured a shot of vodka into each hole, smiling broadly at the way John's face wrinkled up when it hit the cuts. John did the calculations. At this rate the blood loss wouldn't kill him for another three hours or so. Three hours would have to be enough. Sebastian turned away, lighting a cigarette and John stared into one of the cameras, then each of them in turn. He raised his hands and made a capital H, then held up three fingers. He hoped that they were watching, that they'd understand. As Sebastian turned back around John did one last thing to aide his partner. He made a tiny cross.

Sherlock locked eyes with John through the screen, it was as if John had known he was there, because the first camera he chose to look through was the right one. Sherlock saw the movement and looked to his hands. Three hours. That's how long John could hold on. Only three hours. A cross? So it was a hospital then, or was he just confirming the fact that the table was medical grade? No, John wasn't as observant as he should be, he would barely have noticed the fact that the restraints were built into the table, especially when he was physically compromised. Hospital. 13 in the immediate London area,27 within two hours drive of London,11 of which are decomissioned. Sherlock was no longer present in the room. Regardless of that, he hadn't even blinked when Greg arrived a good ten minutes prior because his eyes were locked on John.

Mycroft whispered quietly to him from the other side of the room now that Sherlock wouldn't be disturbed by it. "Jesus Mycroft! Will John be okay? Three hours isn't a long time" Mycroft fiddled with his cuffs before responding. " There are a few possible outcomes from this situation. Preferably both John and Sherlock escape relatively unharmed from Moran. Unfortunately they don't exactly have the best track record for safety in the field. I am under no illusion that should this end with the death of John , Sherlock will not last for very long. There is obviously, the possibility of a trap. We will have to tread carefully, and yet haste is the only option we have. I hope you are prepared for combat Gregory, because I will be entrusting Sherlock's back up to you. Obviously he will refuse any help, but he will inevitably need it." Greg nodded, if he couldn't do anything to rectify the mistake he made by not putting John in protective custody, he would do something for him by protecting Sherlock. "Right. What do we do now?" Mycroft sat back down. "We watch."

John was beginning to feel woozy, the blood had slowed to a creep, thick droplets rolling sluggishly across his skin, chasing rivulets of sweat to pool around his back. Sebastian watched him, stared at him even, as if he were a piece of food. The cigarette was half done, and that meant that his break was half done too. Sebastian's eyes swept up his arm and settled at the top of it, where his captain's patch was sewn on. Two steps and he was looming over him, blowing smoke in his eyes before pulling the cylinder from his lips and placing the tip onto his patch. The fibres shriveled quickly, blackening into wisps of nothing and still the burning went on. His skin was bare before Sebastian moved off, pulling the bracelet from his wrist. That made John furious, more so than he had been throughout the affair. It confused him as well, right up until Sebastian pressed the engraved surface against his newly exposed skin. The lighter flickered to life and illuminated the room for a few moments before Sebastian pressed it against the metal. John could smell his skin sizzling, burning his name into his skin. As the tag began to heat up it burned red and black, certainly second degree John thought as he struggled against the bonds, tearing the holes in his stomach wider with his movement. At least one thing had been clarified. He was in an old psychiatric hospital.

The sudden glow from the screen that had previously been an ocean of black lit only by the luminescence of John's skin attracted Sherlock's eye and in the milliseconds that he could see he gathered an abundance of information. It was a mental institution, John was in the shock therapy sector, which would explain the restraints better. That narrowed down a significant amount. "Move." Sherlock pushed Mycroft aside as he began typing furiously. "That will look fantastic on my browser history" Mycroft grumbled as Sherlock hit search. He knew only four of these hospitals had even existed in London but all of them had been decommissioned years ago. He needed to see inside them all. The first, Greater London hospital for the unsound mind, had been demolished. Unluckily that was the closest one. Sherlock was doing a great job of ignoring what was happening until he heard Greg gasp and turn away. He looked up to see the full extent of the burns John had received. Several blisters littered his skin, but it was the blackened areas that threatened to make him falter. His heart hurt, physically pained him. His symptoms were not conducive to any type of heart failure, and it was clear that this was that ordinary people felt when someone they loved was in trouble. Love... Did he love John? Sherlock put that thought away for later, he could not afford to think about it right now.

The second hospital was still intact, but it was older, much older. The place would be a near ruin by now without the proper maintenance. That left two, and they were equally likely. Similar ages nigh on identical in architecture, this would be a choice. "50/50" Sherlock whispered. "What?" Greg quipped, looking back to the computer. "It's a 50/50 chance that whichever one of these I go to, the other will contain John. There's only time to get to one." Greg looked at his watch. They had only got just under two hours left. "Right. Well then, which one are we going for?" Sherlock glared at him. "I will be going to that one." Greg looked at the photo. It was an old, crumbling redbrick building with barred windows. There was an obvious basement level that had no windows, in keeping with what they could see on the video. "We're going Sherlock, it's going to be dangerous, hell, everything you do is dangerous but this time John isn't there to cover you. So I'm going Sherlock, whether you like it or not. Plus," Greg smiled slightly "I have handcuffs, and a gun." "I will stay here to update you if necessary." Mycroft ushered them to the door and the waiting car. "Do be careful brother." He added as they closed the door. Sherlock smiled. He would be very, very careful.


	14. Chapter 14

One hour thirty two minutes. That was all the time left before the world ended and Sherlock was determined that he would stop it. If he didn't, he would pay the price in an instant with all his heart. He steepled his hands beneath his chin, because if he was correct (and he doubted he was wrong) a plan would be necessary. Greg tapped his foot, jigging up and down as if his life depended on it.  
Be careful Gregory, I want you home for dinner-MH   
He smiled wryly at the text, happy to know that Mycroft was still thinking of him, that he was preoccupying even a small portion of his mind. "You'd think, given the gravity of the situation, that this car would go bloody faster" Greg mused, staring at the back of their driver's head intently. "It will take fifty six minutes regardless. To speed up would result in a necessary lane change, and if the car twelve meters up is anything to go by we'd be stuck in traffic. Obviously." Sherlock looked over to see Greg stifle a giggle. "I'd been wondering when you'd be back to your old obnoxious self! Makes me even more eager to get John" Sherlock rolled his eyes and went back to focusing on the task ahead. It was clear that the shock therapy unit was underground, and John would be in the farthest room from any exits. They needed the element of surprise on their side if they were all getting out of this alive.

John wheezed and coughed, the taste of his own seared flesh permeating his mouth. It always seemed that his dominant hand or arm rather was the one to get injured. First the shooting in Afghanistan and now this, his left arm would be a myriad of scars by the time he died. There was a distinct possibility that the burns wouldn't have time to scar. John was not an idiot, he knew full well that the drowsiness he was feeling would begin to overcome him soon enough, although he had no idea how soon. Time passing wasn't really the big issue. Sebastian tore the metal away from his arm, the skin had molded onto the tag, leaving blackened pieces in the engraving. Sherlock wouldn't like that particular reminder John thought to himself as Sebastian stalked away, tossing the bracelet back onto his chest. There was more coming. He could tell that this was not yet over, Sebastian had an end game in sight and the only way he would let John out of here would be in multiple pieces. John looked up at himself in the mirrored ceiling and wondered if he had looked this disheveled when he'd been shot. Probably.

Snarling, Sebastian wheeled around and curled his hand into a fist. John could only wait as he saw the appendage hurtling towards his face. It struck just above his cheekbone, and he was thankful that this wouldn't lead to a shattered cheek. Facial reconstructive surgery would cost a fortune. His head was throbbing and by the time Sebastian tired of hitting his face John could barely see, let alone speak. He'd been incredibly careful to keep his tongue out from between his teeth, but it wasn't worth risking accidentally biting it off just to make a remark. It was around then that John realised he really couldn't hear Sebastian all that well, his voice just faded into the background. Come to think of it the groggy feeling had gotten worse, the whole world was muffled and John was tired. His eyes drooped and he fought to keep them open, he had to stay awake. Sherlock needed him awake.

The car glided to a halt outside the gates and Sherlock hopped out, followed moments later by Greg who sent the last in a series of texts before realising they'd stopped. The gates were unlocked and a light shove meant all they had to do was walk inside. The driveway was long, supposedly to lengthen the distance an escapee would have to navigate before reaching freedom, which was logical enough. Greg spoke to the driver briefly and he simply nodded his understanding, twenty minutes and he was to be at the front doors with the car, just in case. Sherlock was fidgeting, anxious now that they would be too late. "You remember what I told you?" he gave Greg a piercing look, and Greg simply adjusted his stance and grunted the affirmative, loading his gun quietly as they began they're descent. The wind whispered through the trees and blew stray leaves across their path, like tumbleweed in an old western movie.

The whole thing seemed like a dream, it was strange to think about his job at the best of times but this topped the list for Greg. He was walking into a psychiatric hospital that looked even from a distance like something out of a horror movie with his partner's brother who happened to work with him and insult him constantly, and they considered themselves friends, to try and save his partner from a maniac obsessed with murdering him and destroying Sherlock. If he didn't know better he'd seriously consider that they were in an episode of that show Mycroft liked... Supernatural, just short a demon and an angel. And a cool car. When they reached the entrance Sherlock reached into Greg's pocket for his torch. Greg was about to protest, loudly, when Sherlock shook his head and put a finger to his lips. Silence from here on out. They only had twenty seven minutes left.

John really couldn't keep his eyes open for very long, the lids had grown steadily heavier as they swelled up into purple lumps protruding from his face. The beating had not stopped, just moved from face to chest. With the difficulty he was having breathing John could only hope that a cracked rib or two were the worst of his problems. At least it's not the nail bat again he scoffed to himself. Sebastian was panting, his knuckles torn and bleeding, or just covered in John's blood. He couldn't really tell. Either way Sebastian was tired now, and his hands were sore. He picked up a small blade and twirled it almost gently between his thumb and forefinger, looking at his watch and grinning. "Your genius isn't as clever as you seem to believe he is Johnny boy" Sebastian crooned at him. John couldn't answer, he didn't even hear what Sebastian had said. Every few seconds he would drift out of consciousness. It was pretty pleasant actually, a brief respite from the pulsing agony that was his body.

The first time everything had simply gone dark but after that he had found himself in a garden. Mycroft's garden to be precise. He would look around and there, sitting with his back to him on the edge of the lake was Sherlock. John would walk towards him and he'd turn around, face lighting up with a bright smile and beckon him closer, patting the grass next to him. He'd get just close enough to smell that smell that was undeniably Sherlock and he'd be back with Sebastian in the dark cell. It probably hurt more than all the beating and torture combined, simply because he had to come back to this. Every time without fail he'd come to and search for the raven curls he had become used to seeing and disappointment would rise again in his throat. He was coming, John knew he was. Am I drunk? John's vision was swimming but not in the same way as it had been before. This felt like he'd been on a bender. Of course. The vodka. It would have had direct access to his bloodstream. Just great.

Sherlock unlocked the back door with ease and Greg reminded himself to buy a bolt lock for his office tomorrow. The inside was almost as he had imagined it would be, bar the flickering lights. They had no lights at all but the beam of the torch. It illuminated grubby walls with black streaks running down them and hard concrete floors. Sherlock swiveled the ray from side to side, showing the harsh reality of the hospital. Even through the tiny porthole windows in the doors Greg could see dentists chairs with straps on them surrounded by electrical equipment and it was hard not to think about the people who'd been forced to submit to shocks frying their brain simply because they were born with a disorder. Thinking about it, that was exactly what had happened to John earlier. Greg couldn't help but see his friend's face contorted in agony in his head. He shivered and resolved to look straight ahead. Sherlock was staring intently at the ground and when Greg followed his gaze he saw the footprints that had been left in the dust. They were in the right place then. Seemed like Sherlock had flawless instinct where John was concerned.

Greg gripped his gun as Sherlock opened the stairwell door and stepped soundlessly downward, avoiding every creaking step. Greg followed in his footsteps, hoping that the rest of the plan went as smoothly as this had. Sherlock had thought up five scenarios that ended in the gruesome death of one Sebastian Moran but none of them were feasible with Lestrade there. Even using John's gun would be frowned upon, but hopefully he'd turn a blind eye because it was John who had been injured. He wondered what Lestrade would say if he found out about the true identity of the Cabbie's murderer. At least Sherlock knew John. At the time John had known next to nothing about him and yet a man had died for even attempting to harm basement was even colder than the rest of the building and the windowless rooms all connected to each other. Sherlock flicked off the torch, mapping the compound in his head instead. John would be in the last room.

Just over fifteen minutes left to get him out. There was a noise, so soft that John would have dismissed it immediately if it hadn't been so very familiar. It was the sound of a belstaff coat brushing against suit pants. He'd heard it almost every day for over a year now and it was unmistakable. Sherlock was here. Sebastian hadn't noticed, or if he had he was blatantly ignoring it. For someone who had known Moriarty, Moran was not that bright. He'd chosen a room where his back would be to the door if he wanted to watch John or do pretty much anything else. Then again Moriarty had said that he wanted a pet, he had enough genius to occupy his time with Sherlock. Sebastian growled and ran his knife softly across John's neck, tracing lightly over the veins and pausing for a heartstopping moment on the jugular. His eyes rose, cold and empty, rolled meet John's as they had before in 221b and he pursed his lips before exerting more pressure, just enough for the blade to nick the skin beneath. "I would be very careful of my next move if I were you" a husky baritone voice rang out and before he knew it Sebastian was on his back, being beaten senseless by a furious Sherlock Holmes.

There was a brief moment right before he began that Sherlock thought Lestrade might actually attempt to stop him. That was before he saw Greg turn his back very deliberately on the man and focus his gaze entirely on John. Sherlock didn't waste any time, it took less than a minute for him to destroy Sebastian, having broken his nose and jaw and potentially blinded him in one eye, all without getting blood on his suit. As Greg went to cuff him he grabbed a knife and twisted out of his grip, trying to stab Sherlock. "Vatican Cameos" and Greg ducked as Sherlock had told him to in the car. A shot rang out. Sebastian toppled as a dark red stain spread from his chest. Greg watched as Sherlock freed and picked up his John lovingly, cradling his body against his own before dashing off. Greg pulled out his radio. " This is detective inspector Lestrade, requesting back up, suspect shot in self defense. Confirmed dead. Over" A voice crackled in response. He bent down and picked up the bracelet that was glinting at him.

Sherlock paid no heed to the ache in his arms as he ran to the exit with John. As he had planned the ambulance and police were waiting outside, clearly the texts had worked. He rushed John over to the gurney and softly laid him down. Doctors rushed about,hooking up an IV with blood and pain killers,swabbing his arm, stitching his abdomen, taking his vitals. "His breathing is faint, probably ribs. Better take him in." They were a matched set now, both killing someone for harming the other. Sherlock did not let go of his hand, even when they were driving to the hospital, and when they were taking the xray he held a leg. The doctors tried to get him to leave but Sherlock simply admitted the truth. "I love him." They left him be after that.

In John's room he sat next to the bed, watching him. His torso was covered in a white bandage, one for the cracked ribs and the other for the nine holes in his stomach. The doctors had been very clear that the burns would scar, indeed branding John with his military identity for life. The swelling in his face had gone down and John looked like himself again, if battered slightly more than he was used to. It was five am and Sherlock was exhausted. He lay his face next to John's hand on the bed and fell asleep almost instantly. John woke first, wincing slightly at the pain in his chest. Sherlock raised his head to look at John and he smiled weakly. John coughed and grinned back, grasping Sherlock's hand in his own.

"Are you okay?" Sherlock asked, swallowing nervously. John knew what he meant. "I thought for a while there that I wasn't going to make it" Sherlock nodded. "So did I." John pulled him closer. "Yeah, well while I was thinking that I realised something else. I thought I wouldn't get a chance to tell you, you probably know already, but I just think you should hear it from me. I love you Sherlock." John said, confident. He didn't blush or giggle, simply smiled up at the man he loved. "I love you too John."


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John loved him back. The words whirled around in his mind palace, filling his John room to bursting. He understood now why people felt the need to say it to each other.

John loved him back. The words whirled around in his mind palace, filling his John room to bursting. He understood now why people felt the need to say it to each other. Sherlock had known how he felt about John and how John felt about him. It was in every word they spoke, everything they did for each other showed him that they loved one another, but this was so much more. It was confirmation that he was not alone, that he would never be alone again. He smiled down and brushed his hand lightly across John's cheek before leaning in and kissing him gently, careful not to hurt him.

The heart monitors jumped up and down excitedly until a nurse came in and tutted, telling Sherlock that he was interfering with the patient and would be removed. She plodded over to the IV and injected a sedative into it. John had half laughed half sighed into Sherlock's mouth and then broke away,apologizing to the nurse as he tried to get his pulse under control. Sherlock was trying to hide his smile and failing miserably. John hit him softly on the hand "It's not my fault you're so gorgeous! With your cheekbones and your collar all turned up so you look cool... Honestly! You'd think you were doing it on purpose!" he laughed staring at Sherlock again and reminding himself that he had said he loved him just a few short hours ago. "What?" Sherlock had noticed his stares clearly and John beamed. He didn't think he would stop smiling again for a long time. "You love me" he said, snuggling back into his pillows looking rather pleased with himself. "Yes I do" Sherlock said, stroking John's hair as he fell asleep.

Soon after that Mycroft and Greg arrived, Using their ID's to gain access as John had once back in Baskerville. "Well?" Sherlock asked Greg, knowing that the answer would be the right one. "Dead. I'll have to take your statement, and John's too. Bloody paperwork" This time Sherlock would bring John with him to do the paper work, even if he had to carry him asleep. "I have had some people update the security in your flat. Nothing major, no cameras but an incident like this will beverages happen again." Mycroft added, spinning his umbrella around in his hands. Nervous. "How is he?" Greg asked, openly concerned. He had seen the injuries briefly when Sherlock had picked John up but they had been unclear, covered by his army uniform. Sherlock hardened visibly, obvious detachment techniques.

"Nine holes in his stomach made by the nails caused extensive muscle damage but his body already began repairing it when we drove here. The scars from that will fade. The bruising on his face has already subsided significantly and will continue to do so. Two of his ribs have cracked so breathing will be difficult as will moving. The burns on his arm will scar and will most likely remain on his body for his life." Lestrade grimaced and reached into his pocket, gagging slightly when he touched the skin that had welded onto the metal. "Here, thought he might want these back for some reason." Sherlock took the bracelet and looked at it, inspecting how much more significant it had become. The metal now held small pieces of John in it. He put it on the bedside table.

"When are we allowed to leave without breaking out?" Sherlock asked Mycroft, his hand falling into John's as he felt his body tense on the bed - nightmare. "The end of the week is the earliest, John's ribs need to repair fully before they can let him leave." Sherlock pouted. He hated hospitals with their stupid rules and incompetent staff, sick people were better off at home where they could die in peace. "Hm. If there are any interesting cases you know where to find me. I'm sure John will be thrilled to learn of your visit." He was making an effort to dismiss people in a more kindly manner especially since these two people in particular had been of assistance with obtaining John. Thankfully they took the hint and left, allowing Sherlock to rest his head next to John's chest and fall asleep to the steady thrum of his heart.

John woke with a start, and was surprised to find he was in a dark hospital room, but not the same one he had dreamt of. He was shaking slightly and began doing the breathing exercises that Ella has taught him all that time ago. They didn't help. The dark was so heavy and he could feel the fear in his chest along with the pain in his ribs. "John?" Sherlock's soothing baritone came from somewhere near his arm and John reached out to find the soft curls at his fingertips. "You're in the hospital John, it's ok. Moran is dead. I made sure of that" Sherlock was stroking his hand lightly, waiting for his rational mind to catch up with him. "You can't be comfortable, come on." John scooted over in the bed and Sherlock decided it was better not to argue that now John would be uncomfortable because he knew that this was really a strange way of John asking him to make himself present, that way John would feel safer. Sherlock was proud that he could do that, make John feel safe. He clambered into the bed and wrapped his arms gently around John, avoiding putting much pressure on him. John melted against his body, relieved that Sherlock hadn't made a fuss. He just needed to know that he was began humming softly, a tune that John was very familiar with. It was the same one he played at night when they had first met and John had woken up from his nightmares screaming. This music had soothed him every time until he fell back to sleep. The vibrations of each note rumbled through John and he slowly fell asleep again.

When Greg arrived in the morning with paperwork and coffee he whipped out his phone and took a picture of the two of them wrapped up in each other, with John smiling into Sherlock's chest and Sherlock's head drooped onto John's own. Only when he was satisfied with the shot did he wake Sherlock up. Sherlock was a true genius most of the time but the morning, first thing after waking, was his only exception. Sherlock rubbed his eye and yawned, snuggling into John even more before speaking to Lestrade with his eyes closed "What's goin on?" He asked blurrily and Greg had a disturbing vision of Sherlock in airplane covered pyjamas carrying a blankie around with him. "I brought paperwork and coffee. I think coffee should go first." Sherlock rubbed his eyes and sat up by degrees, careful to stay very still lest he dislodge John from his position. Greg thrust the cup into his hands and waited until he was actually awake before handing him the papers and a pen. Lestrade had his own work to do, and they sat there together, the only noises were the light scratch of pen on paper, the whirring and beeping of machines and John's breathing. It was almost exactly the same situation they had been in when John had been taken in the first place. Sherlock couldn't help but wonder that if the outcome of their mission had been different, would he even be here at all? Maybe he would. He'd have been in the ER or the morgue by now surely, because there was no way he would have stayed after losing John. He wouldn't have had any reason to live anymore. How John had changed him.

Eventually Greg left to do his "real job" and left them alone again. When John awoke he looked around and groaned "Are we still here? I'm a doctor, give me the equipment and I can take care of myself at home. I honestly thought you'd have broken us out by now" Sherlock smirked and shuffled off the bed, allowing John to stretch out fully again. "Unfortunately I have to wait at least another day or two before it's even close to being acceptable, Mycroft said the end of the week but I sincerely hope you don't plan on staying here that long regardless." John frowned and tilted his head to the side "A week is too long, let's just go home soon as we can." Sherlock nodded and began reading the paper to John who smiled happily as he listened to Sherlock's voice. Two days passed like that, with Sherlock reading to John and solving cold cases together, watching crap telly and sleeping curled up in one another, falling asleep to the sound of Sherlock's voice. On the morning of the fourth day John woke to find Sherlock pulling on his coat. "John we're going home."


	16. Chapter 16

John hobbled from the cab to the door, getting steadily paler as he walked. Sherlock waited for him, knowing that he would not take kindly to being coddled nor would he enjoy being left in the dust. A very delicate balance to be maintained. There was, however, a limit to how much he would actually allow John to endure just for prides sake. That limit was fast approaching as he pushed open the door to 221. Mrs Hudson heard them come inside and bustled out to see how her boys were doing. "John dear you look very pale, are you sure you're supposed to be home now?" she asked, brushing nonexistent dust from his shoulders. "I'm fine Mrs Hudson, no need to worry, I just need some rest." Sherlock could feel him wilting and casually moved closer, making John lean against him. It was difficult to bite his tongue and not tell Mrs Hudson to leave them alone but when the old woman caught his eye she nodded and retreated almost instantly. "You take care of him Sherlock, I'll bring up some stew later for you both." She padded back into 221a and smiled slightly to herself. Her boys did make quite the pair.

Sherlock slowed his pace significantly as they ascended the stairs to ensure John leaned against him adequately, it was unlikely that he would be in a position to support his own weight for much longer. Statistically speaking if John were to fall Sherlock would have a 45% chance of catching him without causing injuries to either of them. It would be better not to let that happen he decided as they finally reached the last few steps. "John if you're about to lose consciousness I should be made aware" John hummed "Right well I eh blacking out" John garbled out as he toppled over, blue and purple lights exploding in the sea of black behind his eyes. Sherlock reacted as fast as he ever had and managed to grab John before he hit the floor. "Carrying it is then" he muttered. After all John was not awake to feel undignified. Sherlock picked him up and carried him bridal style to his own room, it had become theirs anyway. John opened an eye and looked around. The world looked very different than it had a few minutes ago. "Are you... Carrying me?" Sherlock grinned "Not for much longer. I'm putting you to bed." John sighed and nestled into Sherlock and his coat. "Might as well enjoy it so." As Sherlock placed him gently between the sheets John locked his hands into the lapels of Sherlock's coat. "Stay, you need sleep, I need sleep, want company" John added from his place in the pillows. Sherlock rolled his eyes and yet began taking off his shoes and outer layers.

John was unconscious already, the calm of sleep smoothing out the lines of his face. Sherlock simply lay awake, combing through his mind palace. Try though he may, there were some memories that refused to be ousted from his domain and the recent ordeal was one of them. Sebastian Moran would join Sebastian Wilkes in the south tower, far from any other memories,or rather from any decent ones. The grass that surrounded that particular tower housed many graves, and was littered with needles and other memorabilia from dark nights in dark alleys. The sky above was always grey, dull and lifeless in that sector, as if the barbed wire on the ground had somehow met the sky and cordened it off. When he did venture there the visit was without fail brief and unpleasant. It was a dumping ground for the stubborn memories that he would like to be gone and while there were not that many memories preserved there, they were generally considered frightful in nature. This new one involving John was most vexing. Sherlock was all for danger, but knowing that he was the reason Sebastian had known where John was shed a new light on everything. He was a danger to John and that was unacceptable, John would get hurt by his side. Maybe it would be better in the long run to save him from all that now, to cut all ties? Sherlock thought about it, then dismissed it with a growl. He was much too selfish to do that. John deserved better.

When he eventually returned to the outside world John was on the verge of waking. Noiselessly Sherlock glided to the kitchen and turned on the kettle. Mrs Hudson had snook in while they had been in bed because the fridge was bursting with food. John had a particular liking for her stews so he selected one of them and heated it while stirring the tea. Sherlock was glad for the second time that day that they had gravitated to his bedroom over John's. While he had good balance, he did not want to test that while carrying a tray laden with hot things up a stairs. John yawned and stretched out briefly before wincing almost imperceptibly and rolling away to make room for the other, who left the tray down on the bedside table. Sherlock stretched out beside him and then pulled the tray between them. "I get tea and everything! Ladies and gentlemen you have the privilege of witnessing a historic event, the great Sherlock Holmes has made me tea, and this time he hasn't tried to poison it! You haven't right?" John laughed, addressing a nonexistent crowd. "It was for the case John! Besides it wasn't the sugar anyway and I remember it being coffee. Now eat the stew Mrs Hudson made, it should be the correct temperature at this stage..." In the blink of an eye, Sherlock had one pale finger immersed in the bowl of stew, the next second it was in his mouth with all the juice being licked off.

He was already half smiling at John's good natured irritation. "Yes alright I think I'll be okay, hand it over." Grinning, Sherlock picked up a spoonful and blew on it gently before coaxing the spoon into John's mouth. "Don't want you to burn yourself again now do we?" John blinked in confusion and surprise but did not make any more to take the spoon away from Sherlock who had ended up straddled across his knees. He wondered what exactly was going on to merit this kind of attention, not that he was complaining, because he most definitely wasn't, but it felt like something was off, wrong in some way. When the bowl was nearly empty and his stomach was fit to burst, John held up a hand and pushed the spoon away. "Sherlock? What's going on? I enjoy being... Taken care of I suppose, but this isn't like you so what's up?" Sherlock stared. Eyebrows furrowed slightly: concern, Fifteen degree tilt of head to right side: confusion. "Sherlock? Still there?" John waved a hand in front of his face. "What? Oh, yes. Just want you to be well rested, there will be cases that need solving and I intend both of us to be there solving them, therefore you need to be fed and rested so your recovery is fast tracked, obviously. Shall I put this in the kitchen?" Sherlock gestured to the bowls and tray. "Might as well, but leave the tea. Oh and Sherlock?"

Sherlock gathered up the used utensils and was just leaving when John called out. "Yes John?" John smirked. "I saw the table on the way in. Apology accepted, although I'm sure Mrs Hudson will be adding to our rent for that. Sometimes I wonder how many ways you can find to melt our furniture... Don't even think about it." He added, seeing the glint of a new experiment in Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock pouted, mouth drooping. John sighed and shook his, head, a slight smile playing on his lips. "We have to buy a new table anyway... Just contain it to the table okay?" "Okay!" Sherlock scrambled out of the room. "And you're buying the new one Sherlock!" John yelled, still smiling. "Yes dear now go back to sleep!" Sherlock retorted from the kitchen, preparing for the second time in his life to melt furniture, the first time had been an accident and he hadn't got a chance to catalogue the results. This would be fun.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Resilience was one of John's more useful traits and thanks to it he was fully functional again after a few days in bed. At his check up the doctor had been totally baffled by the speed of it, his ribs were healed entirely, the holes sealed up and scarring nicely. Even the brand on his shoulder had become just that- a brand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adding an OC because why the hell not?! Imagine the man who repairs toys in Toystory ;)

Resilience was one of John's more useful traits and thanks to it he was fully functional again after a few days in bed. At his check up the doctor had been totally baffled by the speed of it, his ribs were healed entirely, the holes sealed up and scarring nicely. Even the brand on his shoulder had become just that- a brand. No blisters left and there was no sign of infection, Sherlock had been diligent in making sure John was cleaning and bandaging it every day. He still had not seen the blackened words himself, but that was mote self preservation than anything else. Seeing everything, connecting the dots, it wasn't something he would enjoy doing with this wound. He didn't really want to know the time it had taken to burn the flesh, which letters had the flame behind them for the longest, where it had been pressed in and pulled off. He had been waiting for it to be healed sufficiently that seeing it would be ok. Doctor Stapleton removed her stethescope and shrugged. "Alright Dr Watson you're healthy as a horse! Keep disinfecting your shoulder for another few days and you'll be in the clear infection wise. I hope I don't see you again too soon" She smiled kindly at him and wandered off, waving absent mindedly to him as she went.

Sherlock popped his head around the curtain and smiled. "Ready to go?" John stood and picked his jumper up off the floor. "Yeah, you heard? We don't have to come back!" Sherlock smiled broadly. He really did hate hospitals, so poorly run, full of contagious people who were completely boring and doctors telling you what to do, even if you already have a better idea than they do. "I heard, it's a curtain John, not a wall." John chuckled "Why were you behind it in the first place? Was it my" John pulled a suggestive face and gestured towards himself "irresistible body?" He caught Sherlock's eye and they both laughed, Sherlock shaking his head and grabbing John's hand. "Come on, we've got things to do today. Namely find a new table" John pushed open the door, and sighed in the fresh air. It felt amazing to just feel healthy again, like he could chase down a criminal through the back streets of London at any time. If people knew that was what went through his head he'd be sent to the nut house. "Right then, where to?"

Sherlock went perfectly still for a minute, using his extensive knowledge of London to find a shop,giving John the chance to stare at him for a bit. He really was like a marble statue, and if he didn't have clothes on there was no reason people would think he wasn't one besides his hair. It amazed him still that they were together. "Got it!" That was it and they were snaking through the streets, dodging through crowds of people and cars, twisting through back alleys until they were deep into the heart of London town. These streets were quieter, cobbled, the whole place had an air of olden times, like it had been transported straight from the Victorian era to the 21st century. It was breathtaking, and the people who roamed the streets were dedicated, they all knew precisely where they were going. Sherlock seemed at ease, more so than he did almost anywhere else. The winding street eventually opened out into a shop lined avenue and Sherlock turned in, pushing through the door of a nameless building. John followed tentatively, blinking hard as his eyes got used to the dark of it after the brightness of the street.

It was an antique shop, wooden and cosy and filled with all manner of items, all covered in a thin layer of dust. At first glance it was a haphazard arrangement of furnishings and books but if you walked through it as they were now, you travelled further through time with each step. The air smelled homely, lived in, with subtle hints of wood varnish and typing ink. "Well I'll be, Sherlock Holmes is that you?" from behind a curtain came an old man, stooped low over a walking stick, eyes magnified to huge orbs by thick lenses in his glasses. "Hello Edgar. John this is Edgar, he runs this establishment. Edgar this is John my... My John." The old man gave a toothless grin and appraised John, who was rather rooted to the spot. Sherlock was being friendly, genuinely friendly. "Hello Edgar, you have a great shop here" John extended a hand and shook the gnarled fingers of the fuzzy haired man before him. "I did say to you that someone would come along and be just right for you didn't I? Ex-military too that's interesting. I've heard all about your blog John, riveting stuff, although I bet he's always at your throat for leaving out a few of the more nitty gritty deductions." He smiled fondly at Sherlock who shuffled his feet, as if his teacher had caught him doing something he wasn't supposed to. John chuckled "You're a genius too I take it?" Edgar winked and beckoned for them to come sit down by the register in the chintz chairs that surrounded it. "Can't stay on my feet too long these days, I'm getting on you know. Yes back in the day I was considered genius, of course not on the scale of Sherlock here, but genius none the less." Sherlock scoffed fondly and turned to John. "I met Edgar soon after I got clean, his shop became something of a haven for me, In fact I had read every tome in this shop by the time I became a real consulting detective." Edgar nodded, leaning back in his chair. "It was nice to have some company that could host a decent conversation, or even just to read silently with. Although you were a young man then, barely out of school. We learned a lot from each other I think. Even to this day you and that brother of yours are the only other people I've met that compare to myself intellectually. No cause for false modesty, that's the truth. In all my years, you are the first person who has taught me something I couldn't have taught myself or that I hadn't already learned. School was a bit of a bust as you can tell, most teachers didn't take to kindly to my being smarter than them, but Sherlock knows all about that." he snorted , wizened body shaking with silent laughter. "His ego's big enough without you telling him that he taught you things, he'll be insufferable for weeks!" John winked and Sherlock gave him a shove, noting the amused twinkle in Edgar's eyes.

"Now, what type of table are you looking for? I have a couple that you might like" Edgar clomped deeper into the shop and the couple followed after him. "This will explain why someone so brilliant became a shop keeper." They were at the back wall before John realised, he had focused on the things he was passing rather than the destination. Persian rugs, Mahogany armoirs, jewel encrusted trinkets, chaise longues and a host of other intriguing items that had him feeling like he was walking through the cave from Aladdin. "Pine, from the 1930's, Fire retardant, admittedly the carvings are a bit on the morbid side, skulls and crows on the vines but I think it suits you. Plus all the detail is in the legs, so if the top gets scorched or melted again you can just replace that and keep the original legs." John was speechless, it was a perfect fit for them, practical and well built with a side of mystery and danger. "You're bloody brilliant Edgar! I can see why this job would be good for you." Edgar beamed and excused himself to call his grandson who worked with him as a truck driver who did the heavy lifting and delivered goods to all clients.

"Edgar is lovely" John said casually as he rifled through a box of vinyls. "I didn't mention him because I had no cause to. I haven't heard from him in six years, I became increasingly busy with the work and his great grandchildren were being born. He is more of a grandfather to me than a friend, if that's what you're getting at. As I told you I don't have friends I only have one." John shrugged, looking bemused. "I wasn't commenting on anything, just remarking that he's a nice guy. I'm not surprised I hadn't heard of him, the past isn't exactly our most interesting point of conversation and it doesn't bother me either way, as long as you're happy I'm happy" Smirking at the confused frown on Sherlock's face, John pressed a soft kiss on his lips "I'll be outside, going to order some dinner before we get home, at least then the wait will feel shorter. Come out when you're done" With another kiss John was gone, the bell on the door signaling his departure.

Edgar shuffled out and handed Sherlock a receipt for the table, he had gotten Sherlock's account number all those years ago, and never deleted it. "Can I tell you something sonny?" Sherlock nodded, secretly pleased that Edgar thought of him as part of the family. "If you asked him, he'd say yes, and mean it. Sure you've only been a couple for half a year, but this is for the long haul, don't you ever doubt that. If you asked, he would say yes. I guarantee it, same as I guaranteed there would be a him to ask." Sherlock grinned at him, it was easy to forget that there was someone who could read him in the room. "You think so? We only admitted that we loved each other last week, is it not too soon?" Edgar put a hand on his shoulder and turned so they faced the photo of his wedding day. "When I proposed, I had known Jean for three weeks. That was it. We both knew, like you and John did, that we loved and were loved by each other without having to say it, knew after two days. There's no rush, I'm just telling you that you don't need to worry about it because when the time comes he'll say yes." Sherlock gave him an awkward sort of hug before pulling back and starting to make his way to the door. "Thank you Edgar, for everything." Edgar laughed, and patted his hand "You're always welcome sonny. Remember this when you're sending out the invitations. Now off you go, John's waiting." Edgar waved off the young couple and felt a warmth in his stomach that he had not felt in a long time as he saw their hands intertwine. "I wish you were here to see it Jeanie, someone who loves Sherlock just as much as he deserves." He smiled wryly at their wedding photo, standing proudly among his children's. The look of pure happiness between each couple was something he had prayed would be shown to each of his children and especially the one he had taken under his wing six years previously.

John swung their hands between them as they strolled back to the high street and chaos of familiar London. "For someone so old he seems very open minded. My grandparents disowned Harry the moment they found out she was gay."

Sherlock squeezed his hand and looked back at the shop front fading into the horizon, eyes clouding with memories. "He just wants people to be happy regardless of whom they find that happiness with. As long as both parties are truly happy he has nothing but good wishes for them." Sherlock listened to John tell stories of his family, nostalgia piqued by interacting with Edgar. Sherlock could only smile, because Edgar had never been wrong about him before, and now that he was confident of the response, he began to plan when he would propose to his beloved John.


	18. Chapter 18

A few issues arose in Sherlock's mind as he contemplated the actual reality of marriage. The first was his lack of religion, John believed in a God of some sort, after all he had asked them to save his life in Afghanistan. He supposed that it wouldn't matter to him where they got married, even if that meant going to a church or if they ended up in a registry office. John probably wouldn't mind either, he was easy going about most things so this should not be any different. Of course this would mean meeting John's family which he did not look forward to in the slightest. The prospect of having to try and impress them was not exactly tantalizing. People didn't like him, he didn't like people and that was all fine. John's family however would eventually become his extended family and being on bad terms with them would not make John very happy (even if his own relationship with his family was strained). Probably best not to meet his grandparents either if they were still alive if their reaction to Harry was anything to go by. Not that their opinions would sway his decision to ask at the very least. Then again John might not want his family to meet Sherlock, in fairness he wasn't exactly the type of person you bring home to your parents. It seemed lucky now in hindsight that Mummy had made them stay with her for a weekend, at least that was out of the way, she completely approved and even liked John. There was no way he could keep this a secret from Mycroft, but he could be trusted to keep a secret, he was made of secrets after all. It would be better to tell him than to wait for his lackeys to say something, they had only really repaired their tenuous relationship recently and jeopardizing that was not the best idea.

He wondered if John would want to get married right away, or if they would have a long engagement. He never thought that any of this would cross his mind but there it was, completely unexpected, just like John. He peered at John over his laptop and smirked at his sleep rumpled demeanor and grinning toothily when he tried to sit at the table absent mindedly only to realise it wasn't there any more. John simply shook his head at his own stupidity and went to make tea instead. He would find however that there were no teabags left, he hadn't been shopping since his stint in the hospital and the cabinets and by extension John were being harshly affected by this emptiness. He heard the sigh and clatter of the press being closed that always signified John's hasty visit to the shops.

"I'm going to the shop when I'm dressed, anything you want?" John called out from his room. Sherlock had to bite back the retort he was about to call back, telling John that he wanted him gone so that he could do some research on proposing wouldn't really suffice. "Nothing in particular." Although John had been asleep he had been too wary of him waking to start his research. John reappeared fully dressed and stooped to Sherlock's level on the couch, smiling ther light kiss to Sherlock's cheek. Which Sherlock promptly returned, and then John repeated the action, and Sherlock followed suit until they were lip locked and John's hands had carded themselves through his hair. Sherlock pulled back just slightly, whispering between increasingly intense surges "The shopping John, you'll want tea later and not be able to have any, you can have me any time, all the time" John sighed contentedly and rose, caressing Sherlock's cheek softly before leaving.

Sherlock made the skull promise not to tell anyone how long he had sat there reliving the feeling of John's hands on his face before he started into the research. Eight and two third minutes was far too many to be considered anything less than entirely sad. As soon as he snapped out of his selfindulgent wanderings he began with a list.

1: Ring - although given John's aversion to jewellery apart from his bracelet that may not be an easy task, must be imbued with sentiment and more so than usually is by such items, see other options  
2: Speak with Mycroft directly about plans - though a text will suffice  
3: Get advice from self professed romantic Molly Hooper   
4: Ask Mrs Hudson's opinion - and to leave the building on the chosen date  
5: Trawl through John's room in mind palace  
6: Choose date and location etc. - figure out what to say  
7: Propose  
8: Broach subject of last name - Watson Holmes?

He decided to start with number five, it being the simplest and undoubtedly the most useful at this point in time. Oh John, such a wonderful room to be in, even though there are shadows lurking in this room of light, times of fear and disappointment and mortal peril, nothing can cloud the wonder that is John Hamish Watson. Every moment they have spent together, from strangers to friends to lovers to now is rifled through for ideas, it would be fasted if he didn't keep lingering, memories of long nights entwined and heady kisses were very distracting. Still nothing very useful came of it. "Something important... Something symbolic... Something oh yes! That would work! Paired with the, I am a genius!" Sherlock yelled, startling several birds. Now all he had to do was find a way to get it done. It was time for a little chat with Mycroft.

John wandered around Tesco, enjoying the menial task more than he had in a long time. No one had ever tried to kill him while he did the shopping. Yet. A small clatter behind him made him turn around to see a chuckling Edgar throw some milk into his basket. "Hello Edgar" he said with a smile, waiting for the older man to get into step with him. "Hello again John, how are you?" They walked side by side, chatting away, only stopping occasionally to pick something up. "How are things with Sherlock?" John thought of that morning when he tried to leave "Good, really good. Brilliant actually." Edgar winked knowingly at him and then grinned wildly "Do I have to ask or can we both just assume that I know?" John chuckled "That obvious is it?" He sincerely hoped it wasn't. If Edgar could tell then so to could Sherlock and that would take all the fun it of it. "I don't think he's looking for it, He has no idea. When did you decide you were going to propose?" John thought about it, hard. Then it struck him. "It was soon after meeting you, actually. I remembered something and realised that I wanted to ask him." John could still see it, when he had been bleeding out in the psychiatric hospital and all he could focus on was Sherlock, and when he passed out he had hallucinated Sherlock sitting waiting for him, but he had hallucinated Sherlock wearing a ring. It didn't matter at the time, he didn't even notice it. But after meeting Edgar it just came to him. That was what he wanted. Edgar beamed, causing his wrinkled face to become even more wrinkled. "Well I wish you every happiness John." "Thanks, now all he has to do is say yes" They were already at the check out and Edgar picked up his bags. He smirked, like he was in on a secret that John didn't know and nodded "Now all he has to do is say yes. I'll see you soon John, your table should have arrived while you were here." John waved him off and returned to his shopping, hoping he could find some way to make his appointment with the jeweler without Sherlock ever knowing. He'd wait until Sherlock went to the morgue, that would be the perfect opportunity to slip away and be back before Sherlock even realised he was gone.

In the end Sherlock didn't have to text Mycroft because the man appeared on John's armchair miraculously when Sherlock returned from his room. "I'd say I was surprised but you always appear when John gets the shopping. Is it on the off chance that he brings home cake?" Sherlock asked dryly, plopping himself down onto the couch. Mycroft gave him a look "I hear John has fully recovered from last week. I came to see for myself but apparently he's not here." Sherlock glowered at his self satisfied smirk. "I'm thinking of proposing" he said casually, though his stomach had tied itself into a very irritating knot. Even still he craved the approval of his brother. "Proposing what?" Mycroft asked, and Sherlock was dumbfounded once more by the strangeness of them both just as he had been when The woman had supposedly died. "Marriage Mycroft. Proposing marriage to John." The carefully constructed mask Mycroft wore shattered and his eyebrows flew up in surprise. "Really?" Sherlock nodded. "Congratulations brother." Mycroft shuffled in his seat and Sherlock restarted the flow of information he would usually get from people. Dark circles under eyes: late nights, Slight movement of neck: Slept on uncomfortable surface- couch, Mused hair: worry. Problem with Lestrade, caused by Mycroft. Most likely due to being closed off and resorting to insults or indifference to protect own feelings. "We deserve good things too Mycroft, there's nothing wrong with wanting them." Mycroft smiled wryly at him and fiddled with the top of his umbrella. "Thank you Sherlock. Now tell me your plan of action." And he did. By the end Mycroft was smirking and had made arrangements for the first part of his plan. "I'll have an assistant bring them round to you when John is otherwise occupied.I'll bid you adieu then Sherlock. Be in touch." and he slunk off, the door just about closed when Tony, Edgar's grandson arrived. With Sherlock's assistance they maneuvered the table upstairs and settled it into the familiar spot. He was gone almost as soon as he had arrived, and Sherlock sat back, content that his plan was in motion, and texted Molly, telling her he'd be in the morgue tomorrow. He was going to get that advice one way or another.

John made an appointment at the only jewelers he knew for the next day, hoping that Molly would have something for Sherlock to occupy himself with. He was confident that his idea was a good one, and hummed happily to himself as he ascended the stairs to 221b. He was unsurprised to find Sherlock in the same position he had been when he'd left and smiled at the look of concentration on his face. Carrying the shopping into the kitchen he stood back and admired the table that sure enough had been delivered while he was out. When everything was unpacked he flopped into his chair and smiled at Sherlock who raised a brow. "We should christen our new table" Sherlock smirked "That could be taken a variety of ways John, and only one of them involves food. Well, two of them could if you're feeling up to that..." He grinned cheekily and John was up out of his seat and grabbing Sherlock's hand, pulling him into him."I like the way you think Sherlock. But no food, I was sticky for days after the last time."


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It arrived almost five days later, a wooden crate that looked, as per request, deceptively like it contained a live animal. That was why, when he signed for the package, John didn't dare open it, fearing whatever venomous creature would lie inside. That was exactly what Sherlock had hoped would happen because if he had have opened it, well firstly a dead cobra would have met him, but beneath that was a box and contained within that box were two items that Sherlock was very very pleased with. John was very pleased at the moment that Sherlock didn't pay attention to his comings and jewelers appointment had gone very well, Sherlock had actually planned to go to the morgue anyway and John has been there and back before Sherlock had even thought about going home. It had been pretty quick, mainly because he knew precisely what he wanted. Well mostly, the ring had been a difficult enough decision but the other thing, that had been easy.

It arrived almost five days later, a wooden crate that looked, as per request, deceptively like it contained a live animal. That was why, when he signed for the package, John didn't dare open it, fearing whatever venomous creature would lie inside. That was exactly what Sherlock had hoped would happen because if he had have opened it, well firstly a dead cobra would have met him, but beneath that was a box and contained within that box were two items that Sherlock was very very pleased with. They were tailored to his exact specifications and he appreciated for once the power his brother had to do such things. When John left to do whatever it was he was doing, Sherlock opened the box. The black velvet box was cast to one side, he would inspect that in a minute. It was the other thing that he was interested in.

John was very pleased at the moment that Sherlock didn't pay attention to his comings and jewelers appointment had gone very well, Sherlock had actually planned to go to the morgue anyway and John has been there and back before Sherlock had even thought about going home. It had been pretty quick, mainly because he knew precisely what he wanted. Well mostly, the ring had been a difficult enough decision but the other thing, that had been easy. The women who ran the shop had been very accommodating, flirting heavily with him though he was obviously not available and they even knew that Sherlock was a man, still didn't stop them from trying. He was going back to pick up his special order. The younger of the two seemed to understand him a whole lot better than most people, especially the not gay thing. He'd expected that people would just assume that he was gay, and he didn't have any issue with that, but she seemed to just know that men, aside from one tall, dark, handsome genius did nothing for him. It was a nice change to have someone see it the way it was. She was who he was going to meet with that afternoon. "Molly?... Melissa?... Margaret?... Mary? Mary. That's it, Mary Morstan." he muttered to himself as he walked briskly to the shop. It would have been very embarrassing not to know her name, but in truth he was having trouble remembering the names of ordinary people these days, they all just seemed to blur together. "Aaand now I'm becoming Sherlock because that's all we need. Two Sherlock's." he chuckled at the thought. One was quite enough. He caught Mary's eye as he walked past the window and she waved him in, grinning. "Hello again John" she smiled as he entered. "Hello Mary" John laughed as she lead him to her consultation desk at the back of the shop. She sat him down and disappeared behind the counter, returning with two boxes. "Here we go then, which one do you want to see first?"

Sherlock picked up the navy material and smirked slightly, it was the same exact pigment as his own, which was what he had been going for. The scarf was soft and durable, and Sherlock could see John wearing it and thinking of him. On the inside neck so as not to be ostentatious, were the letters JHWH monogrammed in an even darker blue. John Hamish Watson Holmes did have a nice ring to it after all. He hoped John would like it, it was a private but public display of his affection for the man and John would appreciate the sentiment. His scarf was the one thing he never left without, it was a comfort and a constant in his life, and he was bestowing that onto John. Sherlock wrapped the scarf around his neck and went on with his day, experimenting with the cobra venom that he had extracted from his decoy and some arms he'd gotten from Molly. When he had finished he removed the scarf, knowing that it would smell like him now and put it back into the box, eyes locking on to the ring box he'd cast aside earlier.

Mary opened the larger of the two boxes and handed the chain to John. He smiled at it, spreading it out in his palm so he could reason the words on the dog tags. Sherlock Watson Holmes, his blood type and date of birth were all emblazoned in the metal. On the back, just because he could, it read property of John Watson Holmes. In truth John had thought that choosing a last name for them was a bit forward but it sounded like it was supposed to be that way, it sounded right. "These are perfect Mary, exactly what I wanted" he beamed and she beamed back, happy that they had done well. "Will we take a look at the ring then?" John nodded, praying that the resize had gone well. He'd had to measure Sherlock's finger while he was asleep to get it just right. Mary opened the box and spun it around for him to see inside. He'd chosen white gold, Sherlock was so pale that gold would have looked strange, white gold was mysterious and glowed with an ethereal quality which had drawn John to it in the first place. The ring itself was a plait almost of three thin strands of white gold with tiny diamonds embedded in the gaps, nearly hidden from view except in the light of the sun or moon. Despite looking delicate and breakable it was actually one of the sturdiest rings available, something that would definitely be a plus for Sherlock. "Thank you so much Mary, I don't know what I'd have done without you" Mary blushed slightly at the praise and shrugged "It was nothing honestly, I'm glad you like it. Will I bag them for you or do you want to just put them in your pocket, you know, plausible deniability at least if he looks." John smirked, she had read his blog, had told him so when he first came to the shop. It was pretty surreal to meet someone who had read it and liked it. "Pockets for me I think, even if the bag didn't have the brand on it he'd deduce it from the handles or something" They giggled quietly and John pocketed the boxes. "It was great to meet you, I'll be back for a wedding ring hopefully" John joked as they strolled to the door and Mary chuckled "You better be mister, I'm not taking no for an answer" and John waved his goodbye before setting off home.

The ring Sherlock had gotten John was a simple gold band, with thin lines scratched into the surface of it. Most people would see it as maybe a type of Sanskrit or perhaps a lesser know branch of Arabic but in truth it was Tolkien's Elvish, something John would doubtless appreciate given his obvious adoration of the fantasy novel. If there was anything that John could be taunted with it would probably be his inherent love of 'nerd' culture - Dr. Who and Torchwood were the only two shows he would really watch and Sherlock didn't even try and disturb him anymore,missing them made him rather irritable, but even that endeared John to Sherlock, so much so that he had read all of Tolkien's works and accidentally learned Elvish, which he was going to delete until he had the idea of using it to engrave John's ring. The squiggly lines actually made the ring look rather similar to the ring of power from the series itself, although it didn't speak of ruling the world, but rather something much more sentimental. The engraving itself had been Molly's idea, she had always felt that a personal message to last a lifetime on someone's hand was incredibly romantic. Now that he saw it, he had to agree. Everyday John would glance down at his hand while doing ordinary mundane tasks like filling the kettle and he would see Sherlock's message and smile. The engraving read "Until the stars fade away and whatever we orbit combusts, Until there is no oxygen left, Until our transport is decayed and long since gone, Until we crumble to dust in the Earth, and even then, I'm yours."It was lucky that Elvish letters were more like phrases and each line was so thin, his message covered the circumference of the ring entirely. He closed the box gently and popped it onto the scarf before folding it up and hiding the box from view and then he tucked it safely into his coat's inner pocket. He had everything arranged and a couple of hours from now he was going to do it. God this was nervewracking, the waiting that is, for John to come home and then for the right time to let him in on his plans except the obvious part. There was still that niggling doubt in the back of his mind, that John would reject him and bolt, just as he had feared he was going to when he first admitted his feelings to John in the middle of the night. He had to push past this, block it out as he used to with all his emotions.

John's key turned in the lock and Sherlock sat down abruptly at the table, bending over his microscope intently. If he had have been really looking, he would have noticed the slight bulge of John's pockets but he was a little bit too focused on his own to take it in. "I'm almost done with these, Molly has more at the morgue. Want to come along, shouldn't be too long and then we can have dinner." He called to John as he strode through the sitting room and into the kitchen. He flicked the kettle on for tea. "Sure, anywhere in mind?" Sherlock smirked to himself. "Yes" John simply sifted good naturedly, deciding not to press the issue. Besides he felt edgy enough as it was with the boxes in his pockets, and while he was attempting the practiced calm he had learned it did little to help him feel any less like Sherlock could see right through him. An hour later and Sherlock hopped up from his microscope, skittering about with nervous energy. John closed his laptop with a click and rose from his armchair as Sherlock pulled on his coat and scarf and trundled off down the stairs yelling back at him to come on. Grinning John took off after him and was greeted to a waiting taxi at the end of the road. "Seriously though Sherlock how do you do that? It's like you're a homing beacon for taxis!" John babbled as they squashed into the back, legs pressed right against each other. Both were secretly panicked behind a mask of calm, fearing that they would be found out. John cursed himself for putting them in his right hand pocket and Sherlock wished he had a right inside breast pocket to stash his in as well. The cab pulled up to 's and they alighted, heading straight to the morgue.

As they walked down the winding corridors Sherlock took John's hand in his. "I have a confession to make." John stared up at him, entirely confused. "I got Molly to bring dinner for us here before she left." John chuckled softly "She always did have a soft spot for you, do anything you asked that girl would." Sherlock snorted "She wouldn't go away now would she?" he joked lightly as he pushed the door to the lab open and flicked on the lights. John gaped at the sight that awaited him. The usually covered in equipment and other things he would rather not think about desk had been cleared and cleaned and covered in a table cloth. Two plates of food, still steaming lay waiting expectantly on it, separated by a candle. "Seems like Molly is bringing Angelo's to us, down to the candle" John beamed and Sherlock was proud that he had thought of this, it was a perfect combination of the two of the most important moments of their lives together. The setting was the place where they first met and had subsequently spent many long nights working on cases, dancing carefully around their feelings, With help from Molly he had brought the scene of their first date to them and all of the memories that came with it, and to top it all off Sherlock had avoided all cameras, so even Mycroft wouldn't know that this was happening before John did. "Shall we?" Sherlock said, smirking at John who returned the grin, he had uttered those words once before in a situation very similar to this. "How, exactly, did you convince Molly to let you do this? Won't we contaminate something?" John asked, looking around the room that was suspiciously clean and smelled of lemon. "Bribery John, she needed her lab cleaned, and I was more than happy to oblige because I needed it clean too." John rolled his eyes and smiled "You're welcome to bribe me any time, the flat definitely needs cleaning and you seem to be very good at it!" he winked before picking up a fork and stabbing a piece of what turned out to be mushroom ravioli. Sherlock picked at the meal, occasionally eating small bites of it and chatting to John about utter drivel to stop himself from babbling. John laughed openly at a story he was telling, Mycroft had been such an odd child and John loved to hear these stories. Sherlock knew that he would want to be the cause of that laughter for the rest of his life.

"John I..." he reached into his pocket and pulled out the scarf, still concealing the true nature of what was happening. "have something for you." he finished, laying it down in front of John who stared at him with surprised eyes. His heart was beating in his mouth and he was feeling less than confident that his meagre meal would stay down. "Open it" he whispered, voice gravelly. Was he shaking? John beamed up at him and began to unravel the scarf, and Sherlock had folded very precisely, if he was correct, the last layer before the box would be the monogrammed one. It was. "JHWH" John breathed "but what does the last -" Sherlock shushed him and peeled back the last layer himself. John looked down, eyes widening in recognition of what this was, what he was doing, and his mouth formed a small 'o' of surprise, and Sherlock was thankful once again that John's face was so readable, he could see the expectation, the surprise, the hope, the joy all playing out across his features and his heart surged. "John Hamish Watson. I suppose there are an abundance of things I could say to you, like how you showed me the world as I never saw it before, or how you restarted my heart and gave me a life, something to live for again, or how gloriously, wonderfully, perfectly impossible you are and how I can never hope to deserve you, but I don't think we have the time for that because it would take lifetimes to list all the reasons that I'm asking you this. I've settled on just one. I love you, John Watson, most ardently. Would you do me the honour of becoming my husband?" Sherlock had moved while he spoke, over to meet John on the other side of the desk.

John had tears in his eyes as he reached into his pocket and choked out a peal of laughter "I suppose now is a good time to give you these then" he handed the boxes across and Sherlock's eyebrows flew up, an earsplitting smile breaking out on his face as tears threatened to spill over. "John?" he asked and John understood what he meant. Sherlock needed to hear this, so unsure of it still. He stood up and took Sherlock's hand in his. "Sherlock Holmes. You have always been braver than I am, smarter than I am, a thousand times more beautiful than I could ever be, but no one would be more proud than I would be if you said yes. Somehow, out of all the people on earth I managed to find the one person I would happily spend my life with. If I could go back in time, to when I got shot, given the chance to change it, to save myself, I would do it a million times over, getting shot each time, just to be sure I would meet you again. I was so alone and I owe you so much, I owe you everything. And I love you Sherlock, more than anything else in the world I love you. Will you do me the honour of becoming my husband?" Sherlock's hands cupped his chin and he drew their faces together. "Well?" he asked, knowing the answer. "I do" John whispered. "I do" Sherlock answered and they slipped the rings onto each other's fingers before crushing their lips together with a fiery passion because his veins were singing, John was his fiancé.

John grabbed at his coat and tore it off, lust bright in his eyes. Somewhere in the back of his head he heard buzzing, like a phone going off but he ignored it, focusing instead on Sherlock presses up against him and ravaging his mouth. Sherlock ripped at John's shirt and John ripped at his, buttons pinging to the floor as their hands wandered over each other, wanting skin on skin. It was painfully hot and tight already in his suit and from the look of it John wasn't doing much better. The buzzing continued somewhere far off, muffled. Suddenly Sherlock gasped and reached behind John, picking up the scarf and wrapping it around his neck. "I want you wearing only this" he growled as he bit softly at John's ear. John gasped and shuddered, picking up the dog tags and spinning Sherlock around so he could clasp them around his neck. "Only those." John groaned, sucking a line along Sherlock's jaw while stepping out of his trousers with ease before sliding Sherlock's down too, setting hard flesh free from it's fabric prison. Sherlock moaned as the air hit him and he pushed John back against the door, stroking him fiercely and registering with some relief the end of the infernal buzzing noise. John reached down and mimicked Sherlock's motions, canting his hips in shaking jerks to increase the friction. John took control, forcing Sherlock's hands above his head and dropping to his knees. John licked from base to tip, focusing on the head before sucking Sherlock's length into his mouth, hitting the back of his throat. Sherlock cried out his name and twisted his hands into his short hair, holding rather than controlling. John bobbed his head back and forth, swirling his tongue alone the glands and slit, holding Sherlock's thighs to stop him from moving. Sherlock was moaning with reckless abandon now, encouraging John to keep going harder and faster, the image of his new fiancé doing this was much more potent than he had expected.

The buzzing began anew and Sherlock, realising it was his phone grabbed it, answered the call yelled an angry "BUSY!" down the line and hung up, turning it off as he did. John laughed, the vibrations humming through Sherlock and he was off again, feeling the knot of fire in his stomach grow and his muscles tighten. He exploded into John's mouth, eyes rolling back in his head and it took a few minutes before he could open his eyes. When he did he lifted John from the floor and placed him on the desk, kneeling on the ground between his legs and grinned wickedly, grabbing the scarf and pulling him in for a deep kiss before taking John to the hilt in one fell swoop. John let out a strangled cry of what might have been his name and Sherlock began to suck, knowing John would not last long after his display minutes earlier. The wonderful sounds of John's moans were cut off by his phone ringing obnoxiously in his trousers and Sherlock decided that it would be fun to mess with John a bit, make him stew. He picked up the phone and answered it, then held it to John's ear. "John Sherlock won't answer his phone and we have a case that we need him for can you-" John put his fist in his mouth to hold back the sounds that were threatening to break free. "He's busy right now- Sherlock! Tomorrow." Sherlock could hear snippets of what Lestrade was saying and he decided to take matters into his own hands. He moved faster, sucking and licking until John was tense with the effort of holding back. With a sly wink Sherlock covered the mic of the phone and John came hard with a bellow of his name. Sherlock removed himself with a satisfying pop and licked his lips before bringing the phone back to his own ear. "Like I said we are very very busy and I'd appreciate you dealing with what is most certainly an uninteresting case with the hoard of baboons you employ. Have a lovely evening Detective, John and I assuredly will" The smile Sherlock gave was more akin to that of the cheshire cat than anything else. He flipped the phone off and swept around the room, still stark naked, picking up their discarded clothes and dropping them into John's lap. "As much as I hate asking you to get dressed" he eyed John's debauched body like an predator staking claim "I would prefer that we continue at home, wouldn't want any evidence of our presence to very left behind." John struggled into his trousers and coat, the shirt was a lost cause "Your wish is my command Mr Watson Holmes" John grinned as he slipped on his shoes and Sherlock did the same, both savoring the sound of what would be their new name. They were engaged, and life had never seemed so worthwhile until this moment, for either of them.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry in advance for how hard it's going to be to figure out who's speaking towards the end of the chapter but there was nothing I could really do...

John opened one eye and reminded himself that he was on the floor of 221b with a very clingy Sherlock draped around him like a blanket. Sherlock had not lied to Lestrade, they had been very very busy indeed. They didn't call him three continents Watson for no reason. He smirked to himself as he gently rolled over, placing Sherlock on the ground and putting himself against his chest. There he could move about properly even when Sherlock's arms wrapped around him. He nestled against his fiancé and sighed happily, thinking about the night before. He still hadn't gotten over the shock that Sherlock had actually proposed to him, got down on one knee and proposed. The same Sherlock who had in the past adamantly insisted himself incapable of emotion and even still had just barely told John that he loved him a fortnight ago. If this was a very detailed dream stemming from some sort of coma he'd been left in after Sebastian, well he hoped it didn't end. Sherlock had been so... He was reluctant even in his head to use the word sweet to describe him but that was the only adjective he could think of. Thinking of adjectives he was pretty vague on the meaning of the word ardently, sure he'd seen Pride and Prejudice (the one with Keira knightley of course) enough times to get the general gist of it being a positive thing but apart from that he really didn't know what it meant.

"Shhhh John" Sherlock mumbled into his hair "You're thinking too loudly, very distracting. Plus I doubt it's half as enjoyable as what I'm thinking of." John snorted and slid from Sherlock's chest, giggling at the small mewl of annoyance that elicited before moving up so he was face to face with Sherlock. "Oh really? What are you thinking of then?" he asked, leaning on one elbow as he snuggled back into Sherlock's warmth. Sherlock smirked "I'm thinking of precisely what noises you made when I put my tongue-" John cut him off with a blush and a light slap on his arm "That was only about" he looked at his watch "four hours ago, I remember it very well and while I would love to hear more about it, I don't think you could take another round" he grinned broadly when Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You're completely incorrigible John, did you know? I take it that I was right in saying my thoughts were much more enjoyable?" John shuffled closer until even their eyelashes were touching "In a manner of speaking, I was thinking about the fact that you proposed to me, what you said, specifically the word ardently, and how I have no clue what it means but that it sounded wonderful coming from you" Sherlock smiled softly and tilted his face so He could speak directly into John's ear. "Ardently: passionately, eagerly, in our case with every fiber of my being loving every fiber of yours. " John smiled brightly and planted a light kiss on his forehead "As I suspected, incalculably sweet and wonderful. How you do that I will never understand" Sherlock raised his eyebrows and waited for an explanation. "Well with me sometimes you are the most romantic,affectionate, generally pleasant person and then at others you can be harsh and irritating and just a bit of a git, what I can't wrap my head around is how you are so perfect in both settings, they combine to form you so completely that I don't think I'd want one without the other. It's just a strange thing to think about." John mused more to himself than to Sherlock, who had wondered where the conversation was going after that rocky start. "As long as we both know you're not going to attempt to change that" John leaned in and pressed their lips together, marveling in how soft and pliant Sherlock's lips always seemed against his. "Wouldn't dream of it" he winked before heaving himself up off the floor and heading for the kitchen.

"Tea?" he called out to Sherlock who had picked himself up off the floor too and was currently strolling towards their room. "It's a hot beverage considered to be quintessential among English and Irish natives. What about tea John?" John rolled his eyes "Do you want some or not, cheeky git" he added as Sherlock appeared in the doorway laden down with some clothes for John. "You love me, what does that make you?" Sherlock smirked as he handed John the pile. "An idiot who loves a cheeky git?" John asked as he pulled a clean jumper on over his head. "Precisely" Sherlock laughed and opened the fridge. "Erm John? We appear to be out of milk." John sighed and tightened his belt around his waist. "Come on then we'll get some from Mrs Hudson, and no whining because I know you poured it all out to make space for the arms that you took home." Sherlock smiled guiltily and John took his hand, leading the way out the door."Seems like life wouldn't be complete without waking up to an assortment of limbs in the fridge." he quipped and the faint trace of guilt faded away as they stood waiting for Mrs Hudson to open her door.

"Hello boys what are you doing up so early? That Lestrade fellow call you away?" She asked as she ushered the two of them inside. "No no, we just needed some milk for tea, Sherlock spilled ours down the drain again. I'm beginning to wonder why I said yes" he winked at Sherlock who beamed at him in return. Mrs Hudson just looked confused. "Said yes to what dear?" she asked, watching the two of them while they slipped into their own little world and then back out of it to answer her. "Should probably have opened with that shouldn't we?" John said, laughing. Sherlock turned to Mrs Hudson and shrugged "We asked each other if we wanted to get married and the response on both fronts was yes. Obviously." Mrs Hudson paused for a moment and took in the scene that was before her. Sherlock was sitting down, smiling broadly up at John who was standing behind him, arm draped across his shoulder and smirking. She looked at his hand and sure enough a golden ring had appeared on it, already looking like it had always been there, like he had been born wearing it. Her eyes flicked down to Sherlock's hands and there too sat a ring, white gold and sparkling in the beam of early morning light streaming in the window. Her own hands flew to her mouth as she squealed "Oh boys! You definitely should have started with that, trying to give me a heart attack the two of you! Oh congratulations, I couldn't be happier for you both. You'll have to tell me everything that happened, don't you roll your eyes at me Sherlock I know you remember it all, Now you take the milk and help yourselves to buns, I have to call Mrs Turner and tell her, maybe you can meet her married ones, get a few tips. I'll make tea, but only this once, I'm" "Not our housekeeper" Sherlock and John chimed in unison as Mrs Hudson toddled back to the kettle and her phone.

"Almost forgot that other people don't know" John whispered as Mrs Hudson chattered down the phone. Sherlock smirked "Well Molly will get the message when she sees the lab today, we left the boxes there" he grinned cheekily "and I got some assistance from my brother but he doesn't know that we're engaged yet, apart from them and now Mrs Hudson no one else has any idea." John picked up a bun and bit into it, offering Sherlock a bite which he gladly accepted and nodded at their landlady who was smiling tearily at them. "I get the distinct feeling that this will make Mummy insufferable when she hears, Mycroft will not have told her anything, not until he is certain that I did it" Two mugs of tea were placed in front of them and John sat down at the table. "Can we avoid meeting people face to face? Mrs Hudson is fine because she's... well she's Mrs Hudson, but I do not plan on regaling the whole story to every acquaintance we have." John chuckled and sipped his tea. "Tell you what, we'll text anyone who needs to know, call your mother and I'll call Harry. It's going to be the best conversation we've even had 'Oh hello Harry did you know I've been dating someone devilishly handsome and we're engaged? Did I mention he's a man?' I can feel just how fun it's going to be already" John added sarcastically, wondering how he could possibly avoid having her meet Sherlock. She may have been his sister but John knew exactly how rude and probably vulgar any conversation with Harry would be, and how it would most likely spiral into a very one sided argument and a welcome storm out.

Sherlock patted his hand apologetically and rose, tilting his head as if listening for something."Well it looks as if we'll have to have at least one more face to face meeting. I'll just text Mycroft, he'll be very annoyed that he wasn't the first to know." John listened hard and heard the slam of car doors just on the street below, and the familiar sound of a gruff voice. "Is he seriously going to do a drugs bust?" John asked incredulously as Sherlock strode out of 221a and took the stairs two at a time to 221b while texting leisurely on his phone. "Yes and Mycroft sends his well wishes, best be on your guard I think dear... you know her as Anthea will soon pay you a delightful visit."As soon as John passed through the door Sherlock locked it, buying them a few minutes. "Do we want to scar them permanently or will we go for nonchalance? Personally I would go for scarring, much more fun for us." They giggled as Lestrade and his team reached the door and failed to open it.

"I think anything we do will scar most of them..." Sherlock smirked "Brilliant" and shoved John backwards onto the couch before straddling his hips and capturing his lips in a lavish kiss, parting his lips and teasing his tongue out into his own mouth until they were wrapped in a slow dance of perfectly timed movement, if Sherlock leaned back John moved with him, a perfect team. The door swung open and officers piled in, not yet seeing the display on the couch that was not merely for their benefit anymore, because Sherlock somehow had his hands twisted into John's jumper and John definitely had a hand on his ass. The team tramped through the hall and into the sitting room and there was a chorus of gasps as various items clattered to the floor and officers shuffled awkwardly, Lestrade coughing at the pair who were tangled in each other, all of them various shades of red. "Eh... Sherlock? Any chance you could em..." Lestrade bumbled and Sherlock pulled his lips from John's before latching himself onto his neck. "You will so pay for this later Sherlock I swear-gah! Yes Greg?" John tried to focus on everything but the Sherlock attacking his neck.

"Right well um yesterday I called you both in and you just, eh, ignored me even though it's a pretty interesting case..." Sherlock scoffed, removing his mouth and loosening his grip long enough for John to flip them and take up his actions with a selfsatisfied "Ha!" Sherlock was pleased to see that most of the team had vacated the premises and were standing outside the door. Only Anderson and Donovan remained, although even Lestrade was desperately staring at the wall. "Lestrade. If you haven't noticed" his breathing hitched for just a moment as John grazed his teeth along his Adams apple "we are very busy, I told you last night and I'm telling you now, your baboons should be able to handle one case by themselves" Donovan scoffed "You're essentially getting ridden right in front of us and we're the animals?" Anderson sneered in agreement and Sherlock attempted to subtly lean his head back farther, giving John more access. "A few issues with that one Sally, but I'll start with the obvious being that it is you who stormed into our home and didn't leave even when you realised something was going on, are we a bit of a voyeur Anderson? I am perfectly within my rights to do what ever I wish with my fiancé in our home and as for being animals we all are, our bodies are composed of animal cells. Some of us are just more evolved than others" Lestrade stared open mouthed "Fiancé?" Sherlock smirked harder than ever as he held up his hand for inspection. A quick look at his hand, and an even fast glance at John's which was comfortably on his ass and Lestrade ushered his agents to the door, both of themutterly shocked. "Oh, and Sally? I prefer to top" he grinned and then gasped as John trailed his hands into his shirt.

The door closed with a quiet pop and soon after Sherlock's phone chimed in with Irene's voice. John pushed himself up and off of Sherlock with a shudder "First Anderson now that noise, there are some things that I just can't do to you with those images in my brain. " Sherlock laughed and propped himself up "We have all day for that and I'd be much obliged if mine was the only face you think of while you 'do things to me' and for the record I don't have a preference, either way is fantastic" John winked at him knowingly and handed him his phone. After reading quietly Sherlock snorted. "It's from Lestrade. A heads up would have been nice Sherlock, I did not need to see that. Though the look on their faces was priceless, I got a few photos of them for you, wedding present maybe You certainly have a way with shocking people, but congratulations to you both and I better be invited to the wedding. I'll loose the baboons in your stead just this once. And next time you're 'busy' (I realise now what you meant) just don't pick up the phone. Please.-G" John groaned and covered his face with his hands "I won't be able to look him in the eye for days!" He groaned, flopping into his armchair and pulling out his phone with a reluctant sigh.

"I'm calling Harry, you call Mummy and then we'll go get some lunch" Sherlock sighed but brought his phone up to his ear anyway. John gritted his teeth and dialed, listening to the ringing and almost hoping that she wouldn't pick up. She did. "Hello?" "Harry?" "John?! Do you need someone to bail you out or something because I know I told you the last time you bailed me out that I would return the favour but I doubt I could afford it" "No Harry I don't need you to bail me out, I work with the police on occasion, I have a blog?" "Oh yeah right, I keep meaning to read that blog of yours but I've never gotten round to it... What's been going on with you?" "Quite a bit actually but you first, how's Clara?" "She's good, still here if that's what you're getting at. As long as I'm sober she's staying with me." "That's really great Harry I'm happy for you. How's work, life in general?" "I'm a barista now, Starbucks. Clara and Tony, my sponsor, figured it wasn't good to work around all that temptation so I decided to leave the bar. Life in general... It's slow, kinda just trying to fit all the pieces back together after last year. But enough about me, what about you? Tell me everything, it's been a long time, almost three years since we've spoken." "I know Harry but" "It's okay Johnny, I understand that you couldn't do it anymore. No guilt in that." "Well I suppose I'll start at the very beginning. I moved to London again, got a flatmate. He's a genius and his name's Sherlock, he solves crime for Scotland yard and I'm his partner in crime. I may or may not have saved his life a few times and he's returned the favour." "He sounds interesting... What about your love life? That girl what's her name still knocking around? She had a great arse" "Em no. Actually Harry that's why I called. Sherlock's my flatmate..." "Yeah?" "and my fiancé. We got engaged yesterday." "OH MY GOD! CLARA! CLARA! JOHN'S GAY! HE IS! WHAT DO YOU MEAN HOW DO I KNOW! HE'S ENGAGED. TO A MAN. I'M ON TO HIM RIGHT NOW Clara says hello and congrats SERIOUSLY CLAR, GOOGLE HIM RIGHT NOW! SHERLOCK what's his last name?" "*sigh* Holmes." "HOLMES! One sec John I'm going downstairs to take a look." "Yeah I figured you would. I suppose there's no point in telling you I'm not gay? Probably not judging by those ear piercing shrieks." "I'm back! He's gorgeous, even I might give him a go, I mean look at those cheekbones" "Yeah I know..." "Well when do I meet him?" "Uh... He's not very personable... I'm warning you in advance that he can be very candid and he'll know everything about you just from looking at you." "I was never one to shy away from a challenge, plus I want to get to know the man who turned my baby brother!" "He didn't turn me, Harry look we'll talk more in person okay? I'll text you later and we'll meet up?" "God this is going to be very interesting isn't it? I'll talk to you later then Johnny, bye" "Bye Harry." The line went dead with a beep and John was left to figure out how best to introduce Harry to Sherlock, they were going to hate each other.

Sherlock hastened to call Mummy, knowing that the sooner he did the sooner he would be able to go out with John. The phone rang three times before being picked up. "Hello Sherlock, are you alright? You're not in trouble are you? Do you need hitmen?" "No Mummy I'm fine" " Oh good because my best are working at the moment anyway. If you're okay why did you call? Not that I don't appreciate hearing from you but you really do prefer to text." "John has to call his sister so it's only fair that I call you too. I have something to tell you." "Alright, tell me then" "I asked John to marry me, and he asked me to marry him. We're engaged as of yesterday." "Oh Sherlock that's wonderful news! You had me worried that you were ill! I'm so happy for you both, you know how I am fond of John, he'll be good to you Sherlock, I think you're going to have to come and meet me together so I can get the whole story, everything that's happened since you left Mycroft's! And we can talk wedding details, You are having a wedding aren't you?" "We have yet to discuss the details of it all, but I don't think either of us has a preference. As for meeting with you We already have to tell the whole story to Mrs Hudson, we will bring her along and just have a single telling, that would be easiest." "Perfect ,and do tell Martha I say hello, I haven't seen her in such a long time." "I will pass the sentiment along. Where and when shall we meet then?" "Two days time in my summer home, Autumn or not it's my favourite of the four, I'll send a car" "Fine. I must go Mummy we have plans" "I will see you in two days time then Sherlock, and tell John I'm glad he accepted" "Mummy it... We'll explain when we see you. Goodbye Mummy." "Goodbye Sherlock." Sherlock pocketed his phone and waited for John to finish.

"We have a meeting with Mummy in two days, she wants the whole story of what's happened since Mycroft's. We're bringing Mrs Hudson along so it's easier." John smiled and then rubbed the back of his neck "Yeah we're going to have to meet up with Harry at some stage soon, she eh 'wants to meet the man who turned her baby brother' " Sherlock frowned "I didn't turn you, you just fell for me and I happened to be a man." John shrugged "She didn't really give me the chance to explain, but it doesn't matter anyway, I don't really care what people think anymore, they haven't got a Sherlock to deduce the living daylights out of anyone annoying" John smiled and held out his arm and Sherlock linked them as the walked, pulling on scarves and coats as they went. "What do you feel like for lunch?" John asked as they reached the street. "Angelo's?" Sherlock grinned "Angelo's" John replied with a smile.


	21. Chapter 21

Waking up in each others arms had yet to lose it's appeal, and Sherlock couldn't help but revel in the caress of his fiancé, nor could he get used to thinking of John in those words. Long gone were the linguistic basics of friends and best mates, traded in for the more pleasing lover, partner, boyfriend as the language of seduction and possession came into play. Now however, an entirely new cocktail of powerful words were needed, words like fiancé and husband, words that held so much more weight than Sherlock had ever dreamed. In times of utter and complete languid calm he would call to his mind John's name and many of the words he had come to associate it with. John Watson: flatmate, partner, soldier, back up, doctor, best friend, only friend, laughter, lover, fiancé, heart, life - to list but a few. They would have to get up soon he knew, Mummy was awaiting them, but he could not bring himself to rouse John, not quite yet. He would begin to wake on his own in a few minutes anyway, drifting into the lighter sleep of morning. For now Sherlock was content to watch his John sleep, chest rising and falling with each breath, simply for the pleasure of knowing that he could. Even as he watched John's breathing began to quicken, and John rolled over sluggishly and planted a kiss on his chest.

"Morning Sherlock" he yawned into his chest. "Good morning John. We promised Mummy that we" John pressed a finger to his lips "Shshsh. No discussions until I've at least had some tea."Sherlock rolled his eyes and extricated his body from John's octopus arms. Sometimes it was hard to believe he only had two of them, he always seemed to tangle himself around Sherlock. "Come along then John" he called as he pulled on his robe and swept out into the kitchen. John rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stretched, wide awake now he threw on a pair of lounge pants and turned on the kettle bare chested. Sherlock had picked up his violin and was playing, the melody swelling and changing key as he swayed, whole body moving with it. John watched enthralled until the toast popped and kettle boiled and he had to look away. When he had set the table the music stopped abruptly and Sherlock sat down with a contented sigh to sip his tea. "We're bringing Mrs Hudson with us to Mummy's later in case you've forgotten" he remarked over his mug, smirking at John's sleep mused hair and lack of shirt. "Somehow I don't think I could forget the fact that we're taking Mrs Hudson with us. You have told her that though, right?" John shook his head fondly as Sherlock realised his mistake. "MRS HUDSON" he bellowed, she was obviously awake and probably just beginning to make lunch, so late had they slept in.

Unhurried footfalls creaked their way up the steps and Mrs Hudson peered around the door, visibly relieved by what she saw. "Oh good, no fires! Whatever is the matter dear?" she clucked at Sherlock like a mother hen. "We are going to visit Mummy in a short while as she has requested to hear 'The full story' as you did. Therefore to save time you should come with us there to avoid a retelling. Oh yes and she says hello" John smiled brightly at her all the while and she grinned and clapped her hands together. "How is Orabelle? I haven't heard from her in so long... It will be good to see her again" she gushed at them both. "Well at least I know her name now, never heard of anyone called Orabelle before, then again, she named you Sherlock and Mycroft so I suppose I should be less surprised." Sherlock smirked "Actually it was my father, Siger, who decided on Sherlock and Mycroft, traditional Holmes mens names. Mummy is French, Orabelle is a French name meaning golden light. Mummy decided our middle names should be French too." Sherlock grimaced and stuck out his tongue briefly. "Well? What are they then?" John asked excitedly, he'd never thought to ask this before but now he had to know. "Mycroft's full name is Mycroft Ameri Erec Holmes." John's mouth twitched slightly "And what do those names mean then?" Sherlock smirked " Ameri means Home ruler, Erec means ever ruling." John and Mrs Hudson burst out laughing, clutching their sides at the apt names that had been bestowed upon Mycroft at birth. John wiped his eyes, tears of mirth had been streaming down his face "Oh God, right, your mum knows everything, it's official! What about your name then?" Sherlock pouted but acquiesced "Sherlock Tristan Legér Holmes. Tristan meaning riot and Legér meaning people spear." John smiled "Accurate enough, Mummy Holmes is very impressive. At least you're not called Hamish." he joked and Sherlock pecked him quickly on the cheek, a thank you of sorts for not laughing.

"Well you boys should get dressed then, If I know Orabelle we'll be there for lunch. I'll just get my coat" Mrs Hudson traipsed back down stairs and Sherlock and John heeded her advice, moving back to the bedroom to get dressed. Sherlock was very pleased with Mrs Hudson, her gaze had not lingered on John's arm at all. In fairness the branded one was facing away from her, but still she had not commented on the black words seared into his skin. In an objective way, they were kind of beautiful, with each letter being equally spaced and almost looking as though they had been artfully shaded. To those who didn't know it could be seen as a tattoo, to those who did, it was yet another war wound Sherlock thought to himself as he watched John bustle out of the shower. He strode past him to shower himself, but first held John up for a moment to press a kiss to his brand. John rubbed his hair dry with a towel and cleared the kitchen quickly while Sherlock washed. Sherlock had just finished when he decided it was time to get dressed and the two danced around each other in a familiar routine, arms and legs just barely brushing as they reached for shirts, shoes, anything. John couldn't help but smile at the silver tags clinking together against the pale expanse of Sherlock's chest. Even as they disappeared beneath a crisp white shirt they were still resting against his heart. He pulled on his black and white striped jumper rather absent mindedly, not even realising that they had matched their outfits. By the time they had dressed and reconvened with Mrs Hudson a sleek black car pulled up outside.

John and Sherlock tied each others scarves on the way out the door and Mrs Hudson let out a soft "Awwwwww" when their foreheads rested against each others and they smiled. The journey passed quickly and was filled with warm laughter and easy conversation between them. John looked out the window and then at Sherlock. "Is this going to be as dauntingly enormous as Mycroft's house because I don't think I can take any more of that... extravagance" Sherlock laughed briefly "I think you'll like Mummy's Summer home, she designed it herself for her own personal use. It's more to my tastes personally. In fact we're coming up to it now." John and Mrs Hudson turned to look as the house loomed into view. "Oh" John breathed. They had driven into a forest clearing, surrounded by evergreens that seemed to touch the horizon. In the middle of the glade a large house stood, the first floor covered in river stones and the second wood logs. Large windows showed on open plan home filled with wooden furnishings, warm lights and rugs. "This is lovely Sherlock" Mrs Hudson added as he opened her car door. "Yes, it is" he smiled as Mummy emerged with a glide.

"Martha Hudson! It has been far too long!" she exclaimed and wrapped Mrs Hudson in a tight embrace "Who's fault is that now Orabelle?" Mrs Hudson chided as she returned the embrace of her friend. Seeing John's confusion Sherlock whispered to him "Mrs Hudson's husband was a powerful man, my parents met them both at a variety of functions at which it was blatantly obvious that Mrs Hudson was not like anyone else in the circle, just as Mummy had been. They became fast friends, but then there was the move to America and her husband and later my involvement in her husband's death." John nodded his understanding. "It's good to see you again John, I had hoped that this would happen of course but Sherlock has a habit of messing things up when he gets happy." Sherlock shuffled embarrassedly as John was embraced. "I wouldn't have it any other way" he grinned and allowed her to drag him towards the house with Sherlock in tow and Mrs Hudson chuckling at the front of the group. In no time at all the four of them were seated in the living room, with it's expansive window over looking the tranquil forest and allowing the room to fill with light. Sherlock was splayed across the entirety of a black leather couch with John's lap as a pillow beneath his head and his hands running though his curls, his head moving to seek them if the movement stopped. Tea was passed out and Mummy and Mrs Hudson settled into their armchairs. "So. From when they left me last then?" the question was adressed to Mrs Hudson, and she nodded eagerly because there was no part of this story she wasn't hearing.

John looked down at the man in his lap with a question in his eyes. Sherlock gave a small nod and John began. "Well when we got home there was a case already waiting for us and that was our first port of call. Do you want to hear about it because it's not particularly pleasant..." John trailed off and it was Mrs Hudson who encouraged him to continue. "The whole story dear" and he kept going. "Right, well basically the murderer was killing people who used to be in my platoon in Afghanistan. Sebastian Moran was his name and he had a grudge against me. Anyway seeing as we knew who the killer was we couldn't really do much else except wait for him and I was exhausted so Sherlock brought me home and put me to bed before leaving to fill in paper work for Lestrade. Moran arrived while he was gone, knocked me out and took me to a closed mental hospital basement. He set up some cameras, hacked the feed into cctv for Mycroft and Sherlock to watch and er... Took out some of his frustrations on me we'll say. Sherlock figured out where I was and he and Greg came, killed Moran and brought me to hospital. We stayed there for a few days and then went home again when I realised Sherlock had destroyed our table. Again." Sherlock beamed innocently up at him and he chuckled, stroking his cheek.

"Anyway we needed a new one so the next week after my final doctor's appointment Sherlock brought me to get a new one at Edgar's antique shop." Sherlock cut in then, taking up the story. "Having met Edgar before you will be aware of his not being an idiot. He observed that I was pondering asking John to marry me and convinced me that I should do it because John was clearly in love with me" John smiled down at him with warm affection in his gaze and Sherlock didn't even have to try to reciprocate because he knew his face mirrored John's. "I spoke with Mycroft, I needed a way of getting the ring without John knowing and I also wanted another gift, something more..." he struggled for a word "Us" John finished and continued his side of the story. "I was actually thinking of proposing as well at the time but I wasn't sure when I was going to do it. I met Edgar at the shops and he knew and him knowing just kind of made me want to do it more so I set up an appointment with a jewler. Our rings arrived on the same day thankfully and we both had them in our pockets. Sherlock asked me to go with him to the morgue and dinner with him as soon as I got back from the jewlers so I had it still with me when we left." Sherlock grinned "Luckily." Mummy and Mrs Hudson were enraptured with the story, and had decided not to interrupt the telling of it until the end. Sherlock never appreciated being interrupted.

"So Sherlock brings me to Molly's lab, she's our friend who's a pathologist, which is actually where we first met and it's been scrubbed down and on the desk is dinner and candles from Angelo's where we had our first date. I still had no idea what he was planning because as he says I'm an idiot but we started eating and he's telling me all these stories about Mycroft as a child and then out of the blue he says that he has something for me and slides this pile of navy fabric across the desk. It's all folded up into a square and I start unfolding it, it is pretty clear that it's a scarf, the exact same as the one he wears everyday but on the next to last fold there's letters embroidered into it - JHWH, and I asked what the extra H was for but Sherlock peeled that back and sitting there was a ring box. I think my heart stopped beating for a moment when I saw it... He gave me a little speech that was... and asked me to marry him." Sherlock placed his hand over John's "Much to my surprise John laughed and pulled out two boxes of his own, and asked me to marry him. We both said yes and proceeded to have copius amounts of-" John put a hand over his mouth and blushed "Not that much detail Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson giggled "Nothing I haven't heard before, I do live below you boys, I don't think any of us have gotten much sleep recently" she winked and John wished he could delete that from his mind.

Sherlock smirked and rolled to face the two women who had been waiting patiently for their cue. "You can ask away now" there was an audible exhale and Mummy began her questions "Who was first to know? Are you putting this on your blog, wait do your readers even know you're together? Are you having a wedding because you know how much I love a good wedding, What about grandkids is that still on the table?" She babbled out all in a rush and John could barely follow what she was saying after the first three questions. "Molly, Mycroft, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade and team, You, Harry Watson. As for the blog no they don't know we're together and I don't know it's John's blog. The rest... We have yet to discuss." Sherlock answered softly. 'The rest' was a lot. John piped in "I think I am putting it in the blog, I want everyone to know that he's spoken for. Maybe that will stop everyone from ogling him on the street." The women laughed at look of exasperation Sherlock gave John who beamed at him until he smiled back. "D'you want a wedding? I'm easy either way, I'd happily marry you in a skip if that was what you wanted" he added to Sherlock only, who steepled his hands beneath his chin. "I feel the same way, so neither of us have a preference or any great feelings against it... If you wish Mummy we would not be adverse to a wedding." She clapped her hands excitedly and Mrs Hudson was all but bouncing in her seat. "Wonderful! Oh this will be just like old times Martha! We have so much to do, how about a spring wedding, that'll give us about five months to organise. You boys go see if lunch is ready. We'll need to call Antonio, you remember him don't you?" Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose and swung himself up, took John's hand and stalked off to the opposite side of the house.

"I would have warned you about that but it was inevitable." John shrugged and looked into the kitchen where a tall man was throwing something into a pan. "Not ready yet, perfect! We can have a chat while we're waiting then. Come on" he opened a sliding door and stepped out into the forest, sitting on a boulder a few metres from the door. Sherlock followed and sat opposite him, fully aware of what this chat was in aid of. "So. Clearly we need to eh... Discuss? I don't know your feelings about 'The Rest' so I want you to tell me, truthfully, how you feel about kids, for us I mean, not in general." John swallowed hard and waited. He wasn't even sure what way he wanted this to go. Sherlock looked nervous, probably for the first time in the time John had known him and that was terrifying in itself. "I... Our lives are not exactly safe, there's criminals and chemicals and body parts and murder and that's all part of our everyday life. I play the violin at three in the morning and snap at people almost constantly. I get easily frustrated with people for not recognising what to me is obvious, but not with children. They're open and eager to learn, they have an actual interest in what I do and how I do it, they like me because I treat them like they're grown ups but none of my cousins have to live with me for a prolonged period of time. I don't know if I would be enough for a child, the only experience of childhood I had was brief and unpleasant and I wouldn't inflict it on a child just because they were mine, it wouldn't be fair to put them through it. Aside from anything else we are out almost constantly and a child, no matter how brilliant, should not be left alone. I wouldn't be a good father John." Sherlock dropped his eyes and fiddled with the cuff of his shirt, avoiding John's gaze. "Sherlock" John breathed and he looked up. "You haven't answered the question properly, Do you want us to have children?" he asked softly. "Yes, even though I shouldn't." Sherlock whispered, feeling nauseous. He shouldn't want them, he would mess just as his father had with him and Mycroft and they would hate him for it, he hated himself for wanting them anyway. Before he knew it John was around him and he breathed in the tea and biscuit smell that was John. "You'll be a great father Sherlock, when the time comes, you will be great. I'll be right there with you, and we'll raise them together. When the time comes." John mused into his curls and stroked his back, comforting him for feeling like he would ruin a child. "We don't have to worry about it now, as long as we both know that yes children are 'on the table' as Mummy so eloquently put it." Sherlock chuckled into his jumper. "Lunch is ready boys and we have so much to talk about! How do you feel about lilies?" Mrs Hudson called to them from the door. Sherlock stood and dusted himself of and John smiled. When the time comes, Sherlock thought, he will be a great father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Hello dolls I'm back! Writers block is a bit of a bitch guys, seriously not fun at all, so if this is terrible I apologise but it's all my brain would spew out so deal with it! French names, Idek... I assume that mother-in-laws ask about weddings and grandkids because ya know, that's the type of thing they care about? That's a conversation they needed to have anyway so yerps... There may be some French conversation next chapter so be warned that might happen and yeah that's pretty much it, thanks for reading, reviewing, follows and favourites! ~S


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I feel like we're going to regret giving them the reins in the near future" John muttered under his breath to Sherlock as they sat down at the table and listened to Mrs Hudson and Mummy Holmes discuss a hundred things at once. They were already squealing shrilly, John could just barely make out words like "flower arrangement" and "venue specialist". He sighed resignedly and Sherlock patted his arm "As long as they're happy we don't have to deal with them." John smirked and fiddled with the silverware that was probably genuine silver and took a deep breath to just calm himself a bit. Their future seemed to be revealing itself at a devastating pace and while it was all wonderful from this side of the timeline the chances of successfully maneuvering themselves to live that way were slim to say the least.

"I feel like we're going to regret giving them the reins in the near future" John muttered under his breath to Sherlock as they sat down at the table and listened to Mrs Hudson and Mummy Holmes discuss a hundred things at once. They were already squealing shrilly, John could just barely make out words like "flower arrangement" and "venue specialist". He sighed resignedly and Sherlock patted his arm "As long as they're happy we don't have to deal with them." John smirked and fiddled with the silverware that was probably genuine silver and took a deep breath to just calm himself a bit. Their future seemed to be revealing itself at a devastating pace and while it was all wonderful from this side of the timeline the chances of successfully maneuvering themselves to live that way were slim to say the least. They barely knew what would happen from one week to the next, who knew where they'd be five months down the line, and while they both agreed that a child was most certainly on the agenda, it wasn't like they could just go about it the conventional way and that would mean patience and hard work to find a surrogate or adopt. He had a feeling that once again nothing in their lives would go to plan, but it didn't really matter to him when Sherlock caught his eye. How could anything else matter when he had two moons pulling him in like the tide? As long as he had Sherlock no plan mattered. Sherlock focused all his attention on John and his expression softened into a shy smile.

"Boys? They're in their own little world, what did I tell you Belle, they're always doing that at home. Some days I wonder if they're home at all!" Mrs Hudson laughed affectionately and repeated the question. "Well do you want a church wedding? Only we were thinking" Sherlock cut her off with a wave of his hand. "Mrs Hudson we trust both of your judgements implicitly in all matters pertaining to our wedding, whatever you decide will be perfectly adequate." Orabelle smirked and thanked the chef before setting into the steak that had been set before them so smoothly that John barely had time to register that anything had changed. "Thank you Sebastian, that will be all." The silent man nodded curtly and disappeared back into the kitchen. "He's one hell of a butler" John commented between mouthfuls, his steak was perfectly cooked to his tastes, medium rare and looking at Sherlock's which was well done he spared a wandering thought to how the mysterious butler had that information but dismissed it soon after.

The meal was quite pleasant, conversations ranged from work to the childhoods of Sherlock and Mycroft and questions about Lestrade and how he and Mycroft were doing. "Last I spoke to him they were having a, oh what's the phrase... Little domestic? I spoke to Mycroft about it briefly. The manor has plenty of spare rooms he could sleep in when Lestrade kicks him out of his yet he slept on the couch. Seems rather idiotic." Sherlock scoffed, poking his food about rather than actually eating it. "It's just something people do Sherlock, it's not really about the availability of other sleeping arrangements. You're supposed to be uncomfortable, it's kind of like saying sorry for making your partner upset, but you still have to say sorry." John tried to explain in an easily understood way but the whole practice did seem a bit daft, especially if there was somewhere else you could sleep properly. Before Sherlock could say anything John held up his hands in a placating gesture "I don't make the social conventions" he added and Sherlock rolled his eyes in an affectionate sort of way.

Mrs Hudson laughed merrily at that "It seems like all the memories I had of you Sherlock from when you were younger involve that exact face. Oh, remember when you were trying to get him to learn French from that woman... Whatever her name was, and Sherlock here refused to open his mouth for months and there was nothing anyone could do to convince him and then" she had to hold her sides so uncontrollable was her laughter "when you told her there was no point, that she could leave he gave a string of his deductions about her in French?" Orabelle smiled fondly at the memory. "Oui je rappele ça, le petit coquin a l'apprendu déjà. Tu as effaces la langue je suppose?" ( yes I remember that, the little rascal had learned it already. You've deleted the language I suppose?) John was shocked sufficiently to learn that he still understood what she was saying, apparently those French A levels had stayed with him. Sherlock quirked a brow and the corner of his mouth turned upwards.

"Non, c'est assez utile pour le travail, j'ai travailé un fois en France à Rennes. Les gendarmes étè difficle, j'ai fondé que un gendarme qui s'appele Christophe étè le meurtrier. Je pense ils me n'aime pas." (No, it's kind of usefull for the work, I worked once in Rennes. The police were difficult, I discovered that a police officer named Christophe was the murderer. I don't think they like me.) John was gaping, firstly because he was still following the conversation, and secondly because if it were possible Sherlock sounded even better while speaking French. Mrs Hudson clearly had no idea what they were saying so John quickly engaged her in conversation, still keeping one ear in the one happening next to him. "J'aime lui, bien sur, mais tu es positif que ce décision est bon pour vous? C'était une grand surprise" )I like him, of course, but are you positivethat this decision is right for you? It was a big surprise) She whispered, she was happy for them, having been positive that there wouldn't be anyone in her youngest son's life at all, but worried none the less. Marriage was a huge step after all. Sherlock understood her wariness, it was a surprise to him as well, but he wanted everyone to know that John was his to have for as long as humanly possible. "Je suis vraiment sur Maman, Il est le person seul dans l'universe pour moi. Il est le mien et Je suis le sien." (I'm truly sure mum, he's the only person in the universe for me. He is mine and I am his.) John looked away just in time to avoid catching Sherlock's eye when he looked over and smiled at him. "Je suis content pour vous" ( I'm happy for you) she added, giving his arm a quick squeeze "Merci Maman, Je suis content aussi." (Thank you, I'm happy too)

On that note the Holmes's rejoined conversation in English, none the wiser that John had understood every word they had spoken. It was late evening by the time they were going home, ending the day on a high note with Mrs Hudson barrelling into Mummy and demanding that this time round she stay in touch or she'd be after her, they had a lot of work to do in the coming months and she was not taking no for an answer. After careful assurance that she wouldn't dare lose contact again, Orabelle returned inside, watching the vibrant tail lights of the car disappear into the trees, taking the last of the day's light with it.

The drive home was subdued, it had been a long day and the conversation in the garden had given Sherlock a lot to think about. He stroked John's hair absent mindedly when his head lolled onto his shoulder as they drove and Mrs Hudson simply smiled affectionately at her boys. If the two had slipped into a light doze en route she was not going to wake them, not without getting a photo first. Sherlock was sleeping a lot more frequently now that John was sleeping next to him and she sent up a little silent prayer of thanks for their having found one another, the connection they had sparked since day one was something to be truly cherished. She hoped they realised how lucky they had gotten in finding their perfect other half.

Coffee with Harry had crept up on John until it was upon him and before he had time to breathe he was sitting in Starbucks with Sherlock at his side waiting for Harry to finish her shift. Sherlock breathed deeply and hummed, eyes flicking from person to person in the café. "We aren't exactly inconspicuous here John. I think she will see us before we see her" he drawled with a familiar smirk lighting his features. John raised an eyebrow, a question, a challenge, one Sherlock readily accepted. "The patrons of this establishment range in age from fifteen to twenty eight on average. Seventy three percent of those present are females who are here with a companion. All but seven of the men in this room are accompanied by a woman, which makes them, and by extension us, stick out in the crowd. The staff that are currently operating the till have only just begun their shift, their aprons and shirts, while dull in the extreme, are free from splashes or other stains while the waitress who served us ten minutes ago was a veritable explosion of spills and crumbs, meaning Harry had just gone to change when we arrived. Given the amount of time we have been sitting here I can tell you with some certainty that she will emerge in the next two minutes. The table you chose to sit at has a terrible view of the counter and the door beside it, but a lovely view of the park outside because you have been led by previous experience to expect that you will be forced to stare out of it when your sister acts in the usual way,that is to humiliate you with lewd and vulgar conversation, and probably berate one or both of us at some stage during what you and I both hope will be a brief meeting. The door however has a perfect angle at which to spot us as this table is the first one would see upon exiting it." Sherlock finished, clearly enunciating the final t. John's shoulders fell back into a more relaxed position and he chuckled, running the pads of his fingers lightly across Sherlock's cheek. "Brilliant" he grinned and Sherlock tried not to show the swell of pride that simple affirmation gave him.

"Might as well order again, I know what she'll get anyway. Do you want another?" John asked, pushing himself up and heading towards the queue. "Surprise me" Sherlock smirked and John rolled his eyes fondly before heading to the back of the line. In that moment the staff door creaked open, and a woman that was unmistakably Harriet Watson emerged. Somewhat shorter than her brother, Harry's blue eyes and sandy blonde locks were the image of John's, although the similarities between them ended there. Despite her short stature Harry was rather slender, her face all sharp angles and harsh lines. Her eyes lit up in recognition when she saw Sherlock and began striding over as John made his way back to the table with their drinks in hand. "Johnny!" she exclaimed, although the tilt of apprehension in her voice did not go unnoticed by Sherlock, she waited for John to free his hands and swept him into a hug. "Alright Harry?" he smiled shyly as Harry ruffled his hair with a smile "Never better Johnny." John sat next to Sherlock and gestured for her to sit opposite before turning to Sherlock "Harry meet Sherlock Holmes, my fiancé. Sherlock , this is Harry my older sister." Sherlock swept his eyes over her and pursed his lips, extending a hand to her "Enchanté Harry" he purred, John subtly took his hand under the table, silent gratitude for the company manners he was attempting to employ. Harry stared at John incredulously "You should have mentioned that on the phone, do you just talk to him in French all the time to hear his voice sound like that?" Sherlock jerked minutely in surprise as Harry gripped his hand and shook it briefly. John smirked "Actually no, he didn't know I spoke French until just now funnily enough" he giggled and Sherlock gave his hand a squeeze, evidently they were going to talk about that later.

"So Sherlock, I hear you're some sort of detective?" Harry quipped as she sipped at her iced mocha. "Yes, I'm a consulting detective. When the police are out of their depth, which is always, they call John and I." John beamed up at him and Harry coughed and made little gagging noises which she exchanged intermittently for kissing noises. It was exactly like when she'd met his first girlfriend, Amy, who incidentally ended up being her first girlfriend too.

As the conversation settled to a comfortable plateau (or rather Harry's polite questioning came to a close, Sherlock already knew everything about her) Harry grinned toothily. "So. We all know what I really want to hear about so go on, tell me how you wooed Three continents Watson, world's straightest." Sherlock looked confused briefly and tilted his head to the side. "I don't quite know what you mean. We became flat mates and then friends and quickly it was established that he was my best friend as I was his. Right about the point when I realised that he'd willingly die for me, and that I'd willingly die for him was when it became clear that I had stronger feelings than mere friendship for John. After several tortuous weeks I expressed these feelings to John and he thankfully reciprocated them and now here we are exactly six months, three weeks, four days, eight hours, twelve minutes and fourty seven seconds later." Harry furrowed her brow and looked genuinely taken aback by the response. Sherlock bit his lip and turned to John "Not good?" he asked nervously. It wasn't as if he'd been keeping count he just calculated it based on the time. John smiled and kissed him on the cheek "Very good actually. Remind me to ask you that frequently because it's quite frankly one of the sweetest things you've said to me." Sherlock rolled his eyes, a half smile playing on his lips "Duly noted."

Harry smirked and coughed a bit then continued her interrogations. "I was thinking it was probably you who convinced him, you seem pretty convincing. But now..." she grinned "Now I'm thinking it's the other way around. According to my reliable sources Johnny here's packing" she winked at Sherlock as John spluttered and blushed furiously "HARRY!" he groaned, putting his hands over his face "are we really going to do this? Again?" She shrugged in response and rounded back on Sherlock. Sure enough John's gaze had flitted to the window and the street outside. If only wishes could become reality, then he would not have to suffer this embarrassment. Alas there was no poof of smoke to take them away. "Clara was out with John shopping for this concert they were going to right? And Johnny lets her pick out stuff for him because she works in fashion and just knows her stuff. Anyway so picture John here just trying on everything that she tosses into the changing room without a second glance at what it is because he only wants to leave, he's got lectures and then training to go to or whatever. So Clara, being the stylist, gets a pair of leather skinnys and hands them in, not really thinking through the logistics. She's waiting outside and calls to him to come out, and he's not one for preening himself in the mirror first, so he just strides out in nothing but a pair of leather trousers that left NOTHING to the imagination. Needless to say I heard all about it when she came home. Well, am I right?" Sherlock simply smirked and lifted his cup to his lips, jolting slightly in surprise at the sweetness of the coffee inside. "Cinnamon chai latte" John murmured, gaze still directed to the outdoors.

"That didn't have a factor in the decision actually, although it was  _definitely_  a pleasant surprise. Unlike you my choice of partner was based on much less superficial things." Harry scowled, the frown darkening her features, aging her by many years. She smiled sweetly, and Sherlock held back the grimace that was fighting to break across his cool façade. "Who tops? I bet you're always at it, if what I remember about Johnny's habits with women is still standing then I'm surprised you're able to sit down right now. Ain't that right Johnny boy?" John shuddered. The last person apart from his big sister to call him that had wanted to kill him, Sherlock and two of their closest friends. The name didn't sit well with him at all. "Harry come on, why are you asking these questions? It's really none of your business in the first place." Glaring challengingly at his sister John sat with arms folded, becoming Captain John Watson of the fifth Northumberland fusiliers once more.

"If I may interject? Harry here is feeling vulnerable, her situation with her ex-wife comme girlfriend is tenuous and her sex life has been non existent for a while now. She assumes that as she takes the dominant role in most all of her relationships, you too would be dominant. However - to answer your question Harry - she has no concept of the importance of  _equality_  in a relationship and looks down upon Clara even still, though she doesn't perceive it that way. Her hands are shaking, the obvious reason being withdrawl and yet there's more, Harry is having trouble making the decision between alcohol and the only person apart from you who has ever truly given a damn about her well being. A choice, might I add, that should not be difficult in the slightest. She wishes to live vicariously through you so she can fool herself into believing that her relationship is better than it truly is at the moment instead of actually working at it. Lying to oneself is a truly Anderson-esque ploy Harriet. Only true fools can withstand misleading themselves for very long and in the end you will have lost everything before you have come clean. That much even you must know." Sherlock finished abruptly and sat back in his chair. He may have to pay for that later, but a sense of utter satisfaction was all he could really care about at that moment. Harry looked stunned, all colour gone from her face before returning in deep maroon to cover her cheeks. She opened her mouth to bite out a scathing retort but Sherlock beat her to it. "Oh yes, and I'd get that little problem checked out if I were you."

 

She flushed even deeper and stood up, grabbing her bag and fuming she turned to leave. "John I hope you know what you're doing because this tosser is the single biggest arsehole I've ever spoken to in my life. He's not good enough for you and I hope you'll come to your senses and hightail it before it's too late. It was nice to see you again Johnny." and with that she swept out, leaving her utterly mortified brother in her wake. He sighed and rubbed a weary hand across his face. "Well that went better than expected." Sherlock's eyebrows were in his hairline at that "that was better than expected? Were you expecting a homicide?" John smirked and then shrugged "I expected you to blurt out your deductions right off the bat and her to storm off before sitting down, most likely parting with a slap to your face. So yes, better. Thank you, anyway, for trying. She's more difficult than you mostly and it means a lot that you made the effort for me even though I amn't particularly fond of her either. She's the only family I have left though... Only seemed right having her meet you before you officially become the only true family I have eh?" he smiled happily up at Sherlock who grinned back and locked their lips together. "She did have one thing of merit to offer" he murmured in breaths between kisses. "Mmmm? And what would that be?" John enquired lightly. "Leather trousers are a fantastic idea" John groaned and Sherlock simply smirked.

**A/N I'm baaaaaaack! During my brief hiatus I've been on holiday with my best friends (if any of you are reading this well... I'm all out of fun facts ;) ), painted the entire top floor of my house with my siblings, celebrated my sister's 14th and my brother's 21st and today one of my other sister's starts secondary school so excuse me while I go gush over how fast they grow up and be an utterly embarrassing older sister as is my duty. Hope you all like this chapter, even with the addition of my (rather dodgy) French and sly reference to Black Butler in there (ok not sly at all but whatever) and all. Never really wanted to like Harry and oh look she sucks but unfortunately she's necessary to the story so she will be making another appearance at some stage in the future. Anyhow, you all know the drill at this stage but if you have any comments or ideas of what you'd like to see happen I'm open to all of your suggestions! Thanks so much for all the support and feedback as always ~S**


	23. Chapter 23

Soon enough the residual warmth of the summer disappeared completely, giving way to the biting cold and barren trees of winter. Time for the residents of 221b Baker street passed as it always did, with cases and chases and each other's company to help stave off boredom. With the change of the seasons came darker nights, forcing the tactics they employed when in pursuit of a criminal to change with it. John could not help but think back to last winter, when Irene Adler had made herself known to them. He smiled slightly to himself at the memory, fingers ghosting lightly across the rim of the crystal ashtray that sat on the mantle next to Sherlock's skull. She too had predicted this outcome, her sharp tongue dancing about the subject frequently, from the moment they had met in fact. "Somebody loves you" she had said and she had been right, although he'd actually just hit the place where he'd be least likely to leave permanent damage. But love him he did and he had figured it out after a long night of contemplation when she had disappeared. Rather inconvenient that, especially when the next big case came along, the one with Henry Knight in Baskerville.

It had hurt a lot more than it should have, having to say that no Sherlock wasn't actually his, even more so when Sherlock had said that he didn't have any friends. Just because he didn't have friends didn't mean other's considered him anything less than that. He was John's best friend, and John was his only friend. And that's leaving out a lot of the big parts of the case, like when Sherlock tried to poison him with sugar, or when he'd locked him in the lab to face the hound, and that last night in the moor when John had closed his eyes and killed the dog that plagued Henry's every waking moment with a single shot, relying totally on instinct. "That  _was_  an impressive shot" Sherlock smirked across at him from his microscope. John barked out a laugh "At this stage Sherlock we could set up a psychic office on the side with the amount of times you just know what I'm thinking." Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned back to the slide before him, shaking his head ever so slightly "Wrong." and that was all he would say on the subject. "John?" John looked up from the medical journal he'd been feigning interest in "Sherlock?" "I need some. Get me some!" John snickered a bit at that and Sherlock looked baffled by his reaction. "Sorry Lock, bit of a double meaning in that. You know as well as I do that something will come up, whether it's private or with Lestrade is luck of the draw really, well, misfortune of the victim actually..." Sherlock sighed and stared blankly at the blood sample that seemed to stare back at him.

The experiment had concluded a week ago, but cases had been light on the ground the past month or so, The death of Sebastian Moran had left a power vacuum that had exposed many criminal strings in their own civil war to find a new king, but no one out there was anything like Moriarty, in fact the majority could not surpass even Moran's average intellect and that was a sad state of affairs indeed. They'd done his work for him. Dull. At least John too was feeling the strain of having little to actually do, the tension built up in his shoulders would tell nothing to anyone who didn't know John as he did. No one knew John like he did. That was a point of intense pride for him. The tension was mounting each day, and while there was some relief to be found at night (or whenever he felt they could both use a little break, which was more often than he'd like to admit. John never seemed to mind) there was a day coming soon that John would simply explode and Sherlock had no clue what that would entail. For once, however, he'd rather not know. "You need to get out John, you're tense beyond belief and while my...tactics... have been working rather well I am genuinely starting to fear for your health. Go out somewhere." Sherlock pressed, he remembered the John he'd first met, the nightmare riddled depressed military vet with the dead eyes. Never again would he allow that fate to befall his John, and that was seemingly where he was headed. John smiled weakly and looked pointedly at the garish smiley face that adorned their wall, or more specifically the rows of bullet holes that surrounded it. "I think we're both going a bit stir crazy, and I love you, but if you screech your way through another Vivaldi I swear the wall won't be the only thing that has bullet holes in this apartment" He joked lightly and sighed "I have an idea. I'll go out with Greg tonight if he's free, maybe Mike or something if he's not, and you get out to Bart's and do some very disgusting experiments that I will take great pleasure in hearing all about them in the morning. Sound good?" Sherlock's honest smile brightened his face considerably at that and he rushed across the room, planting a sloppy kiss on John's forehead. "For an idiot you are remarkably intelligent John" he murmured and they laughed together, the pleasant musicality of it warming the room substantially, floating down to Mrs Hudson in her living room, making her smile.

Greg was mercifully available, and if he didn't believe before now John was certain that there was a God out there who was perpetually looking down on him. The pub was relatively busy for a Thursday night, being the halfway point between 221 and the Yard made it a frequent stop when John and Greg went out together. The low hum of voices rumbled softly and unobtrusively in the background as he sat at the bar and ordered two pints, waiting for Lestrade who was frequently late for these get togethers. Not that John had an issue with that, on the contrary. Usually this alone time was spent trying to think of things to talk about that didn't involve either of their partners. Not an easy task at all he was slightly embarrassed to admit. Greg trundled in with a weary grin on his face a little while later and John realised with a jolt that they hadn't had a proper non case related chat since... God since before the Moran situation. "Sorry mate, you know how it is" Greg smiled as he sat down and picked up his glass "Ta for this by the way, been so swamped lately I haven't been able to breathe let alone go for a pint. We'd an inspection there last week and I swear to whatever's out there if I have to redo one more bit of shoddy paperwork I'll arrest myself when I murder the rest of them." John laughed heartily and realised how much he had missed this, talking to someone who wasn't five steps ahead all the time, who liked pints and footie and a chat about something other than corpses and other typical case related issues. Still in the back of his mind he was wondering what Sherlock was up to, missing him even though they'd been at each other all day everyday for weeks. God he was getting needy... He shoved those thoughts deep into the recesses of his mind and settled into his stool. "I wouldn't blame you, plus Sherlock would get a real kick out of that. He might even send you flowers for it" John laughed and Greg smiled brightly.

"So how have you been mate? It's been far too long." John half smiled at the dark look that passed over his face, that next to last meeting had been rather unpleasant... "I've been worse, far worse. I never had the chance to thank you for that by the way. So thank you and sorry for er... how you found out about" he held up his hand, ring glinting in the low light. Greg nodded his acknowledgment of John's thanks, and smirked at the ring. "You know part of me can't believe that  _Sherlock Holmes_  is engaged, but the other part of me is completely unsurprised by the manner he chose to let us know. I don't think I've ever seen Anderson look so horrified and he works on brutal murders... You'll be happy to hear that when he was being a bollocks about the whole thing I didn't even have to step in because someone else already had." John started at that. "What really? Who?" Greg's grin grew until it looked as though his entire face was made of smile "Sally Donovan. No joke! She boxed him in the face when he said... Well it doesn't really matter what he said. Yeah, in front of everyone she basically defended the both of you and broke it off with him. I quote "Just because he's a freak doesn't mean you or I, or any of us for that matter, have the right to mock his happiness. John Watson is a saint and not only is he the best thing to happen to Sherlock he's also the best thing to happen to this department! I don't know if you've noticed Anderson but our jobs have gotten a thousand times easier and the longer he stays the easier they get. So you can take your hypocritical bigotry elsewhere you complete arse!" By the end John's jaw was resting somewhere on the floor. Sally Donovan. "Jesus... That's not who I'd have expected at all... Maybe I'll get him to send her flowers!" Lestrade sipped the dregs of his pint and ordered two more, and they continued to chat and drink together.

"Congrats John. Honestly I think you've made him the happiest he's been in his entire life, you don't even see it! God, you brought the good man out of the great one and proved that he was in there all along without even trying! Do you know how amazing that is? I mean, sure I put him in rehab that last time but it was the work that made him get clean, Mycroft always tries his best to keep him safe and take care of him, Mrs Hudson and Molly will do just about anything for the man but not once did any of us see him actually smile, I mean not at the thought of a case or the condescending smirk, I mean smile. You're a bit of a miracle John Watson, no doubt about it." Greg was halfway through his fourth pint at this stage and John was only on his second, so his blushes at that were luckily not going to be remembered by the DI in the morning. "We're miracles unto each other. Mightn't have been here at all if it weren't for meeting him" he smiled softly. They had managed to get through almost everything that had occurred in the couple's life so far including meeting Harry. "Enough about me and Sherlock, what about you and Mycroft? Last I heard you two were having a domestic" Greg scoffed "A domestic? Mrs Hudson says the strangest things... We're great I think. I mean, not to sound sappy but I think I love the man - don't tell anyone that because he doesn't know yet. He's exactly what I need in a relationship, mostly. His self esteem issues are... Probably worse than anyone I've ever met which is odd for someone who is as influential and he's so confident all the time until he's not... It's an oxymoron. He's an oxymoron. He's in... Vienna? I think it's Vienna at the moment for work so I know he's not listening in. But just in case... Lu, don't let him see this cuz I wanna tell him. If he leaves or whatever I'd like to be able to see him go." John was very confused at that. "Why would he leave?" Greg snorted bitterly "Our domestic as you labelled it would be about his inability to a) articulate his own feelings and b) his disbelief and refusal to accept my feelings for him. He's got a massive fear of commitment and I think I would be the first person to tell him that they love him and mean it. God help me I do though John. I love him." Patting his back softly John muttered his reassurances quietly while calling a taxi for them both. "C'mon mate you can stay at 221 tonight, don't think having you alone in Mycroft's is the best idea tonight." He had a missed call from an unknown number but shrugged it off, probably unimportant. John supported Greg into the car and gave the address, sending Sherlock a quick text as they drove off.

**On way home, Greg's coming too, don't ask -J**

**I'm also on my way back, probably best if you maneuver him into your old room my clothes are a bit bloody and his stomach will be unsure as it is. - SH**

**Right ho Sherlock. Oh! I got a missed call from an unknown number, any idea who it could be? - J**

**Eight. - SH**

**See you soon love, I'll be expecting some very impressive deductions -J**

**You're always impressed by my deductions -SH**

**Not always -J**

**Wrong -SH**

**Fine always you git -J**

Sherlock smirked and tucked his phone away, striding down an alley lightly splattered in blood. No cabs would take him, but they would be the ones to benefit from his work on blood spatter on clothing should they be murdered. He'd spent hours working on the fresh cadavers with various weapons. He did regret not bringing John's gun as that was a distinct hole in his data however he would rectify that at the nearest opportunity. He had missed his blogger while he worked in relative silence, rather as silence as it could be when Molly was chattering aimlessly at him. He was however feeling distinctly better for the excursion, the walls of the flat had been closing in on him slowly as the caseless period lasted longer and longer. He'd give out to Lestrade for it but in all fairness he'd been updating him on all cases that were ongoing, they just weren't worth the time it took to read about them. Plus Lestrade was actually not awful to have around, and had his uses after all he'd been rather useful in retrieving John all those months ago. Sherlock would forever be in his debt for helping save John's life. He hated being indebted to someone but for this, he would make an exception. He liked to feel the fluid waves of his ring when thinking about that night, so many variables could have made it so he never had the chance to ask, to show that he loved him.

John dragged Greg up to his old bed and dumped him unceremoniously onto the bed, returning to place paracetamol and a glass of water on the side table by the sleeping man. Chuckling at the drool dribbling slowly from the corner of his mouth John snapped a photo and sent it to Sherlock before trudging back to his armchair. He'd not had the chance yet to update his blog and inform the masses that they were engaged and though he was slightly on the wrong side of sober he opened his laptop and began.

**In case you were wondering**

It's been quite a while since I posted, but you remember that I had a run in with an old acquaintance that was... Not exactly pleasant and since then we've not had any proper cases to write home about. There is, however, a rather good reason for my writing this that most of you will find unsurprising or at least I don't think you will be shocked. Surprise! I've been dating Sherlock for almost a year now, right after that Moriarty business we got together and in truth it feels as if we've always been this way, even though we haven't. A part of me was shocked that he even had those feelings, but I have it on good authority that it's just me (quite flattering that).

All the speculation about us should probably have tipped me off, he never denied it when people said we were together, but I assumed it was a Sherlock thing. He's my best friend and as of a few months back, my fiancé. That's right folks, Sherlock proposed. Rather we both proposed simultaneously, long story. Yes, we're set to tie the knot as it were in the spring and I honestly couldn't be happier. We're a matching set he once said, yes Sherlock I know it's not the same context but it works. We are a set, in our own odd way, but at least it's never normal. Normal is boring. He's currently on his way back from an experiment that has left him 'bloodied' in his own words. At least the head in the fridge is gone.

Until next time, Dr. John H. Watson

Just as he pressed send the door clattered open and Sherlock strolled in. "Well that was tedious." he smirked and John stifled a laugh and turned on the kettle. The rumble of Sherlock's voice explaining his experiment ("of course I've done this sort of thing before but  _fresh cadavers_  John!") and the soft whir of steam brought a smile to John's face. "Come on, it's late and I don't know about you but I'm pretty tired." John picked up their mugs and carried them to the bedroom, Sherlock trailing after him grumbling about the fact that he'd slept more in the past three months than he had in years.

John stripped off and waited for Sherlock to finish his rumblings before giggling. Sherlock, bemused by the reaction, looked up. "Oh." His eyes widened considerably as he stared at John. "They're red.  _Very_  red." John grin cheekily "The only words the great Sherlock Holmes could think of to describe my red boxers are oh and very red?" Sherlock stalked across the room to him and stroked one finger across the leg of them " _Why_ , may I ask have I not seen these before?" John leaned in to his hear, breath warm against his ear, raising goosebumps. "There's a lot you haven't seen Sherlock, but you will. You like them I take it?" John murmured, deftly unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt. Sherlock gulped and nodded, never taking his eyes of the smooth scarlet silk hugging John. "Just you wait." John growled and slid his tongue along the shell of Sherlock's ear " _These_  are to say thank you for understanding me so beautifully" He smirked while Sherlock shivered "and _this_  is to say that I love you" and he pushed Sherlock back onto the bed. It was a great deal of luck that ensured Greg Lestrade never heard a peep, though the neighbours had banged on the wall repeatedly, the cadence of Sherlock's moans and shouts just didn't reach the upstairs room, and if they had, he was dead to the world anyway.

A long note of violin woke John from his sleep, and he was about to shout that Sherlock should be more considerate to Greg, even if he was playing John's favourite of his compositions so far, but he felt a curly head on his chest before he opened his eyes. Phone. He scrambled to pick it up and held the machine to his ear, answering with a croaked hello. "John?" a woman's voice asked softly. "Eh... Clara? What's... What's going on?" John yawned blearily, sitting up a bit and looking at the clock. 5am. "John I tried to call you earlier but you didn't answer me and I don't think we have the time to talk properly" she blurted frantically "Calm down Clara just tell me what you need." John switched instantly to doctor mode as Sherlock opened an eye. "It's... God I can't believe she didn't tell you! Harry. She's... She's got cervical cancer John. They're in surgery performing a histerectomy as we speak but she wants, I know she wants, to save her eggs because she was going to offer them to you and Sherlock if you guys wanted kids and I think that you do and that way they'd be both of yours because they'd have your genes too John. They'll have a longer storage life if..." The only other person John had herd speak that quickly was Sherlock and it was thanks to that he was able to hear everything Clara was saying. "What's going on John?" Sherlock asked with a stretch. "You want Sherlock to fertilise them don't you?" he asked and Sherlock sat bolt upright and stared at John, deducing the entire conversation from his face. "I know it's crazy John believe me I know but she wants you to have them... She went to the doctor just after she met up with you and Sherlock and they told her... She's in surgery now so I can tell you but she was adamant that I didn't let you know... I'm sorry John but you need to make the decision now." John was in a stunned silence and looked over to Sherlock, eyes so lost and helpless that Sherlock wanted to strangle Harry for leaving him in the dark until the last moment.

However terrible the situation, it did give a unique opportunity in that they could both be the biological parents of a child, kind of, if he agreed to do this. Hadn't they just spoken about all of this a few months ago? "You'll be a great father Sherlock, when the time comes you'll be great. I'll be right there with you and we'll raise them together." John had said. "John?" he asked timidly, unsure of himself yet again, but he put all that he wanted to say into the name, how he was terrified that this was a bad decision, his self hatred for even thinking about children at all, his confusion at the logistics of this, his patience that they didn't have to use them yet, and finally his resolve, his want and his hope that John wanted too. "Sherlock?" John breathed as he took the phone from John's grasp. "We'll be there in half an hour Clara. It will be nice to meet you." Sherlock hung up and slid out if bed, pulling on his clothes as he went. John was still staring at him in awe. "Come along John, you need to visit Harry and I apparently have an appointment with some very irritating lab rats." John shook his head and began to dress "We're really doing this aren't we? You know what Sherlock?" John asked as he tugged his jumper over his head and walked over to Sherlock in the bathroom. "Most likely but do tell" he responded with a smirk and John batted his arm. "You're bloody brilliant and I'm bloody lucky" Sherlock turned and gathered John into his arms, planting a soft kiss in his hair. He was scared for Harry, and for Sherlock doing this, but he wanted it too. "We both are love, we both are."

**A/N I was going to wait another chapter to do that but then I thought why not just fast forward a few months and do it now? So I did! I did say Harry would be of some importance and while it may seem a bit ooc for her really she does love John and wants him to be happy. Mystrade is cute ok? Deal with it! Also red pants Monday was calling my name...It's been hectic for me, back to school, getting the results of those exams I took in June, I'm part of yearbook photography this year and I'm just busy! I'll still update this because I love it and it's become my baby but if they're super sporadic I do apologise I've just got a lot on my plate. Anyway aside from that thanks for reading and responding as always, love hearing from you! If you're reading this (just so I know) it'd be cool if you put the word Umbrella in your review! Ciao for now -S**


	24. Chapter 24

Bleak. Sherlock had always had an obvious dislike for hospitals, institutions filled with the ill and their teary families, brimming with disease and sentiment in equal measure. He wasn't sure which should be more abhorrent to him. The pungent odour (Disinfectant, bleach, infection) was one that he could barely tolerate, and he spent a fair amount of time with dead bodies lying open and decomposing in his fridge. He was grateful that he could forgo sleep because John was yawning as subtly as he could into the shoulder of his coat while they walked arm in arm into the foyer to wait for Clara. "This is insane. I can't believe she didn't tell me!" John raged quietly and Sherlock, not the biggest Harry fan couldn't help himself "I can't believe it's not her liver" he muttered and John put his hand over his mouth, stifling his own decidedly inappropriate giggles at that comment and opening his eyes wide in shock. Sherlock caught on rather quickly "Ah. Not good?" he asked bashfully rubbing the back of his neck and smiling. John grinned back "Bit not good yeah." His easy smile faltered when he remembered their purpose for standing in this hospital though and Sherlock held his gaze, stroking the curve of his jaw soothingly and remaining a silent but reassuring presence at John's side as he scanned the crowded waiting room for Clara.

"There. Clara!" John pointed to a slender brunette who'd have been rather pretty if her features were not so scrunched with worry, her grey eyes were usually welcoming and warm, but they were filmed with a layer of unshed tears at the moment. She strode over, her face serious and gait purposeful. John was questioning her instantly "How is she? How much longer is she in surgery, do they have her chart here because I want to see it. Jesus are _you_  alright Clar?" he asked, pulling her into a tight embrace. "Perhaps we should get her off her feet John. The chances that she might faint are rather high, obviously hasn't eaten in the past 24 hours and her pacing only stopped a few minutes ago due to some dizziness. Sherlock Holmes. A pleasure to meet you." he added as an afterthought, squirming through the gangs of people to find three empty chairs in a secluded corner of the room, right next to a hidden window. When everyone was seated and John had miraculously acquired tea and biscuits from an overtly flirtatious nurse (He had his hand on Sherlock's thigh the entire time to be sure that he wouldn't get 'pouty' later) Clara began answering their questions. "We came in yesterday and they took her in about four hours ago. A doctor came earlier to tell me she was in critical condition and that's when he asked about the eggs so obviously I called you. He said he'd be back within the hour to get my answer and seeing as you're here... I don't know John. I don't know what's going to happen to her. God I'm terrified that she might not come back from this. We only just got back to where we're supposed to be, everything was going so well... We should have had years. She's an idiot! I swear when she wakes up she's going to have a very angry girlfriend to answer to." Clara cycled from one emotion to the next with such speed that Sherlock was left behind at worried and only caught up to angry after a few moments of silence.

John chuckled good naturedly. "I might give her a day to recover before giving her a piece of my mind. Not telling your own brother, not to mention your  _practicing physician_  of a brother that you're ill is like... I can't even think of an analogy for that, and I have an analogy for will vouch for me, that's how insane it is." Clara smirked apologetically and turned her appraisal on to Sherlock for the first time, looking him up and down carefully, scrutinizing every feature. Sherlock held his breath and waited for the inevitable judgement of freak to be expelled from her lips, but it never did. "I can see why you like him John. He's got great taste, and you know what I say about men with great taste" she wiggled her eyebrows at John as Sherlock just stared at her. John blushed deep red and nodded, a small grin on his face "Funnily enough Clar, I don't think anyone can see why I like him, let alone love him, but that's the beauty of it: you don't have to." John stared up at Sherlock, admiration glimmering in his eyes and Sherlock could not help but think of sunlight hitting the lake back at Mycroft's when he looked into them.

"But the suit. It was like 5am and BAM! He's in a suit! Who's awake enough to be able to suit up at five in the morning? I only gave you a few minutes notice and yet here you are... In the hospital. In a _tailored_   _suit_." Sherlock smirked. "This is everyday attire for me and I don't sleep well. Anything else is unacceptable and frankly the hospital has been seasoned with many of my suits before. Besides we were in bed so clothes were at hand and John doesn't enjoy it when others ogle me when I wear my sheets. He was equally displeased when I wore his sheets-" John gasped and raised a hand to his face. "What?" Clara asked nervously, thinking it was news about Harry. "Greg!" John exclaimed and Sherlock simply chuckled.

Greg groaned loudly into a soggy pillow. His head was throbbing, pain pulsing and rising with the beat of his heart. To top off the headache, his stomach was a bit iffy and his mouth was about as dry as a towel. He opened one eye and looked down to find himself fully clothed thankfully as the bed he was in was definitely not Mycroft's. Slowly so as not to exacerbate his head he rolled onto his back and breathed a sigh of relief, John Watson truly was a saint. A quick glance at the clock showed it was only 7am and he rolled out of bed and trundled downstairs to find the apartment silent, and the coats of it's owners gone. He sighed and shook his head, wincing when the throbbing intensified "Bloody Holmes's." he cursed a bit before shuffling into the shower and turning it up high. God he felt horrific. What had he been thinking last night, drinking himself into a stupor. More importantly, what had he been saying!? Try though he might, his memory only allowed for patches of his conversation to come back to him, but he was relatively positive that he'd told John (and by extension Lucia, Mycroft's ever watchful assistant) that he loved Mycroft before he even told him that.

It had been weeks since he'd heard from Mycroft at all, Lucia was his only point of contact to his world at the moment, and not for lack of trying. He texted the man every single day, saying good morning, how Sherlock was doing, and sometimes (when he was feeling particularly needy) that he missed him. He'd gotten no response. At all. Sighing wearily and pulling on a towel on the way to the kitchen he checked his phone again, mentally berating himself for how deeply he had let this man affect him. Chances were that he knew how Greg felt about him already- he was related to Sherlock after all - and skipped town, laying low in Vienna or more likely somewhere different entirely. Two messages. The first from Lucia, but he left that for last because who knew what it would say? John's message was from this morning, only an hour ago. 'Greg, sorry that we ran out on you but my sister is in hospital at the moment and... I'll explain it all later because it's insane. No need to worry, your secret is safe with me by the way. It'll all work out -J' Greg smiled briefly, trust John to try reassure him even when he's sitting in hospital with his sister. Recoiling from the array of fingers and whatever that squishy pink stuff was in the fridge he popped two slices of bread into the toaster and sat down softly before reading Lucia's message. 'I was unaware that had not been responding to you but rest assured we will be having a very frank conversation. If you still feel the same way about him when we return in two weeks know that I will not have said a word. I may just have to slap him if he messes this up with you Greg. Will report back later, give Sherlock and John my best -L' Smiling at the kindness of the woman he'd come to be great friends with, Greg sat back and munched his toast plain. Whatever was going to happen between him and Mycroft, at least he'd be put out of his misery soon.

Conversation dwindled as the hour passed and soon the only noise that came from the corner in which the trio waiting on Harry sat was the rhythmic tapping of John's foot against the leg of his chair. Sherlock sat frozen, eyes closed and hands clasped beneath his chin, completely unaware that Clara was staring at him in fascination. In any case he couldn't have cared less. What he was pondering was far more important than a set of eyes on him. It was going to be rather awkward to bring up actually and even more so because of Clara's presence. Before John and after Sebastian, he'd not had any physical manifestations of a libido at all, Which wasn't a problem for him, an erection was rather pointless if you don't have someone around to instigate the reaction. However, momentarily he would be asked to provide for the fertilization of the Watson eggs and that was where the issue lay. He'd not gotten himself off... Well ever. Also, from what little he'd gleaned from crap telly, he couldn't just bring John to help him 'get it up' as it was so crudely put, but nothing else would, leading to the circular thought about precisely how awkward the situation he was in would be. There was nothing he could do about it now, the doctor was striding towards them with a grin. "So!" he began brightly "Which of you is going to be the donor?" he asked and John, seeing Sherlock's preoccupation, responded for him. "Sherlock is, I filled in the forms already because one of the nurses gave them to Clara." Sherlock shook himself and scowled at the chirpy man. "Right them Mr. Holmes if you'd just come with me to the office I'll explain the routine." The man turned quickly on his heel and Sherlock had to follow instantly, no time to voice his concerns to John.

"...And there you have it. Here's the specimen jar, just go on through there and put it in the chute when you're ready." He ushered Sherlock inside and closed the door behind him. Sherlock took in the small room with a critical eye. Small, coat hook on back of door that was recently installed, one scrupulously cleaned leather armchair, a teak table covered in thirteen different magazines he was sure would do nothing for him- leaving out the fact that they were sticky, tissues and a half empty bottle of unscented hand lotion next to those, and then the jar. The damned thing was mocking him already and he'd not even made an effort yet. Removing his coat and perching on the chair, Sherlock trawled through his mind palace, trying to find something that would help him, but he couldn't access any of his times with John. For some reason, that wing was closed.  
He groaned in frustration and flopped into the chair in defeat, pulling out his phone and texting John.

John had sent Clara off to get some breakfast for herself when his phone buzzed. **'John we have a problem -SH'** Brow furrowed John replied quickly. **'What's up Sherlock? -J** '   
' **I need you here -SH'**  
 **'What dyou mean? -J'**  
 **'I can't do this on my own obviously, I never have before and this high stress situation is making matters worse. -SH'**  
 **'Wait, you're saying you've never flown solo before, ever, not even as a teenager? -J'**  
 **'I don't wish to repeat myself John. Now I need you if convenient. If inconvenient... -SH'**  
 **'Come anyway. On my way -J'**  John strolled down the corridor as if he owned the place, a trick he had learned very early on in his friendship with Sherlock. If you act like you're supposed to be there, most people don't question it. **'Which one are you in? -J** ' The third door down creaked open and a shock of dark curls emerged from it. "That one I take it" John smiled and scuttled inside, locking the door behind him. Sherlock had a light dusting of pink across his cheeks, and his embarrassment was obvious in the colour and his downcast eyes. "Hey" John soothed, pulling Sherlock's chin up so their eyes met "it's fine. It's all fine. Now, what do you need?" he asked, steering Sherlock to the chair. Sherlock looked down pointedly at his own trousers and then back up at John. "Tell you what. I'm just going to do what I usually would and when you need the jar" a sly wink "just say so kay?" Sherlock nodded sceptically and John grinned before settling onto his lap and licking at his neck and grinding their hips together slowly. Sherlock groaned and managed to get a small "Thank you John" out before their lips met. John slipped his belt open and pulled him out of the confines of his trousers, taking a broad stroke of the fully hard flesh beneath his hands. Maybe it was strange, but John couldn't really help but feel flattered that Sherlock needed him to be present to get hard and he was very enthusiastic in his new role of helping hand, literally. In the end they almost didn't manage to get the jar in time.

Mycroft nursed a glass of scotch, sitting brooding in his room in Vienna. The conference he had to attend (and all the subsequent meetings) were lasting far longer than anyone had originally anticipated but he was not complaining. Vienna was the perfect place to contemplate what he was going to do. He'd let himself go by allowing Gregory into his life. He knew that, had known that when the man had cornered him one day and asked if he was "free for dinner. And by that I mean a dinner date. With me. You look like you could use a meal and some company tonight." and he had, that day had been exhausting, the debacle with the bond air fiasco had finally become a closed issue, after days of meetings and interviews trying to implicate not only him but also Sherlock. It was just supposed to be dinner, he'd prepared himself for a boring night with an ordinary man. That was not what he got, and even though he had been so careful never to do anything other than make arrangements, he had given Gregory the chance, said yes a second time. Still he had let himself do it, get sucked in by the magnificence that was Gregory Lestrade and now... Now he didn't think he'd be able to get out. No one had ever affected him as Gregory did, and all of a sudden the Iceman had realised that he would never recover if Gregory deserted him now, he'd wriggled his way into nearly every facet of his life excepting his work and even then Mycroft was still thinking of him at the end of each day, wondering if he'd have something prepared for dinner if he wasn't working and if he was he wondered if he'd be home that night.

The revelation had hit him on the plane, when Gregory had texted him asking (he thinks it was a joke) if this month long trip was annual so he could plan his own schedule around him being gone. In front of at least three colleagues, he'd almost actually laughed. And then it hit him that he was in love with the salt and pepper haired detective, and he was terrified. This was the point at which caring became a disadvantage, because now Gregory could destroy him by leaving, if he left Mycroft wouldn't be able to go to the manor because the whole place was memory after memory of Gregory, cooking, dressing, lounging, grinning, laughing, coming apart above him. At the same time, Gregory could be targeted by association and that... He wasn't sure which was worse because either way, whatever small semblance of a heart he had was Gregory's and would live and die with him. He sipped at his scotch.

A short rap on the door that could only be one person made him look up. Lucia was standing before him with a frown on her face. "If it's the issue with Syria again tell them that we have to let it run the course of the year or else we'll have a full scale war on our hands -" Lucia held up her hand and Mycroft stared at her as she tucked her blackberry into her pocket. "Lucia?" he asked. In all of his time working with this woman, he'd not seen her without the phone firmly glued to her hand. "Mr. Holmes." She began with a severe look "I have worked for you for nearly twenty years now, and I feel like that entitles me as the single person that knows you best to give you a good dressing down when you need one. So. With all due respect sir, I'm about to do just that." Mycroft sat back, eyes wide and silent in his chair, feeling like he was a child being scolded even though Lucia was quite a few years his junior.

"From what I have gathered, you've been ignoring Greg. Yes he has noticed and no he's not happy about it. I know you don't have any room in your position to be vulnerable, but you do have room to be happy and you are only truly happy with him Mycroft. Don't try and tell yourself anything different. The man is not going anywhere! At least he won't be if you would treat him like you even wanted to speak with him! It's been two weeks and he's contacted you every single day, opened himself up to ridicule by admitting that he misses you and been shot down every time. I can tell that you're worried because you love him and that's a first for you aside from Sherlock, worried that he will actually ruin you if you let him. Trust me on this, I consider Greg a friend, and he would never intentionally hurt you. I'm certain of that. So I'm asking you to put the man out of his misery - he is miserable because he thinks you've either dropped off the face of the planet or that this is how you break up with people - and just tell him how you feel. He's not cruel you know. Just tell him. Please. I don't like all of the odd pining that's going on between you, it's making you both restless and I know you're not focused. That's why I've booked your flight back to London for tomorrow. I'll stay on and handle any issues. You're going home to tell him one way or the other sir. And yes the Syrian issue has been pressed once again but I have told them what you said." Mycroft blinked slowly, trying to wrap his head around what had just happened. She was right of course, as she had been ever since she'd been recruited at seventeen.

"Thank you Lucia. Do try not to gloat too much about this later." Lucia smiled and tapped her nose "It's just between us sir. Wouldn't want anyone else thinking they can do my job." she laughed and sidled to the door "Also, Sherlock and Dr Watson have met with Clara and are with her now in the hospital." she exited with that, leaving Mycroft alone with his guilt. He'd been neglecting his love quite badly indeed. "Perhaps a gift, an apology, and a declaration are in order." and he began to issue a series of texts, beginning with one to Gregory.

**A/N Next time on Lost, just kidding. Originally I wasn't going to write anything about Greg and Mycroft, save that for their own chapter, but then I realised that Greg would just wake up in 221b alone and be like "whuut?" so yep and why not have some Anthea/Lucia thrown in there because she's cool and probably the only person aside from his mum, Greg and Sherlock that can actually give out to Mycroft a bit. That aside thanks to all of the Umbrella notes, it seems weird writing these if no one reads them you know? It's our little connection, little time to chat :) Thank you again for reading and following and reviewing and all that jazz! If you have suggestions or complaints or anything else, I lurk in the review section like the little troll that I am (is she kidding? Only a little) Laters ~S**


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a minor character death that I didn't even plan on.....

Harry Watson awoke to the blurry vision of her doctor staring down at her, and no one else. She didn't have to be a genius to know what that meant. "Tell me then." she rasped out, her throat was dry and it felt as if she'd swallowed nails. "When we opened Ms. Watson, we got a much clearer view of the damage than we did with the CT and MRI. It became apparent that performing the histerectomy would have little effect except to buy some time for you. The cancer has spread at an alarming rate, your kidneys, liver, bowel, and lungs have all been compromised, the damage is irreparable. Surgically, there's nothing else we can do." Harry took a few minutes to wrap her head around this, still reeling from surgery and cloudy with drugs, she really just wanted to know. "How long?" The doctor sighed and looked reluctant to say anything. "That bad huh?" Harry said, trying for levity. "A couple of months is the best we can hope for. I'll have someone come to talk to you about end of life care later on. Would you like me to tell your next of kin?" Harry scrambled to sit up but hissed in pain, forgetting in her panic the surgery she'd just endured for no reason. " _No_! No. Don't tell anyone anything. And take my chart with you when you go, my brother's a doctor so he'll try to read it."The doctor looked at her for a few moments and yet he picked up the chart. "It's important to have a support system in this you know, it's not going to be pleasant and the more time you give everyone to adjust, the better they'll handle the inevitable end. I won't tell them, but you should." he added before walking out and leaving Harry by herself. Only when she was certain he was gone did she allow a few small tears. She'd always said that she would live fast and die young. Funny how the world has a way of making you wish you could take it back. She would tell them, Clara and John. But only when they were too late to stop her from doing what she had planned. Carefully so as not to pull her stitches, she reached for her phone and put it up to her ear. "Hi, I'd like to book a flight please? From London to Geneva. Oneway."

Clara and John raced to Harry's room as soon as the doctor told them she was awake. Sherlock hung back however, because he now knew something he shouldn't, the eldest Watson was dying, and she did not plan on telling anyone. Yet he knew. If he told John, he'd be devastated, and if he neglected to tell him he'd be both devastated and furious at being lied to. "Damn it Harriet!" he groaned in frustration, leaning back against the wall. Trust her to manage this, how on earth was he supposed to proceed? Tell or don't tell? He needed a second opinion. "Mrs Hudson?" he muttered down the phone, it was still early and the old lady didn't take too kindly to her sleep being interrupted when she just returned from some time away. "Sherlock dear what is it?" she asked readily, Sherlock wondered how he'd ever managed without her guidance. "I have stumbled across some rather... unpleasant news while deducing. The person the news is about does not want John to know about it, and now that I know... I am not quite sure what the protocol in this situation would be. Either way John  _will_  be hurt by the news." Mrs Hudson sighed and sat down "It's that sister of his isn't it?" Sherlock was astounded by Mrs Hudson's intuition and made a noise in the affirmative. "Well Sherlock I think you have to give her a chance to tell him herself but if she hasn't by next week... You tell him. Gently, mind you, and be sure to apologise for it before you say anything. Of course you could always ask his sister to come clean about whatever it is." Sherlock contemplated this, better she admit that she's dying than Sherlock inform those closest to her. Most people tended to have an issue with the way he handled death in general, but clients are different than John. John would need a bit more tact. "Thank you Mrs Hudson." She chuckled warmly "Not a bother dear, now go sort everything out and give John a kiss from me." Sherlock slipped his phone back into his pockets and stalked to Harry's room, leaning in the doorway unobtrusively to allow her some time without his actual presence. She would want to see the people she loved, not him, after hearing news like that. So he stood quietly, waiting for a cue that signalled he could enter fully.

John beamed and took Harry's hand in his while Clara caught her lips. Gosh he'd been so worried that she wouldn't make it back from this but she actually looked ok, although he couldn't be sure because her charts were missing for some reason. "You are dear when you get out of this bed Harriet Watson, I can't believe you put me in that position! I had to call them because of the whole eggs issue and you promised you'd tell him! You're an utter idiot and I was _so worried_!" Clara babbled, planting kisses anywhere she could reach. "Harry I... First off I can't believe you didn't say anything and I should be furious with you right now but honestly I'm just glad you're ok. Secondly... Thank you. Thank you so much for what you've given us. I don't think I can ever tell you how much it means to me and to Sherlock too." Harry smiled weakly at John and patted his hand "Well I was never going to use them and I always saw you as a dad anyway, what better way to do that than to use my dna so you could biologically be related to the baby?" She didn't say that she wished she could have a chance to see them, or that she was sure she'd have loved the wedding. "I hope you're happy with him anyway. Sherlock that is. Without meeting him I'd not have gotten checked out" She didn't say that it made no difference, that she'd left it too long. She simply smiled a little sadly and enveloped John in her arms. "I love you Johnny, you know that right?" she whispers into his hair. "Never doubted it for a moment Harry. I love you too." When John pulled back Sherlock was already in the doorway and he beckoned him in though there were only two seats available.

Sherlock stood at his side quietly while Clara chatted away and they waited for the doctor to come and tell them when Harry could leave. "A week from today should do it, lacriscopic surgery takes much less recovery time. Until then Ms Watson needs as much rest as she can get so I'm going to have to ask you all to leave, come back tomorrow at eleven or two." The gang bid Harry farewell, hugging her in turn. When it reached Sherlock he too leaned in, but whispered softly to her "I won't tell him, but he should be told by the end of the week. I know what you're planning and he will want to say goodbye properly." He breathed it so quietly that had he been any further back she would have missed it. "They'll know by the time I leave here, I've got a flight booked for that afternoon. Switzerland." Sherlock nodded against her. "I am truly sorry Harriet, regardless of what you think of me I did not intend this to be the outcome of a jibe of mine. Can you accept my apology?" The last time he'd been this sincere in an apology was... Back when he'd been using. He'd thrown up on Lestrade's shoes. They were nice for once. "Of course. Be good to him won't you? He loves you a lot and after everything I, dad, mum even, after all we put him through, he deserves to be happy. Even if its with you" she joked, but he was Sherlock Holmes, and there was no one on this planet that could hide the sound of tears in their voice from him. He mightn't cry at the funeral, but a part of him would miss Harry Watson.

The entire week he was walking on eggshells around John, avoiding him desperately in case he should see what was going on. The doctor had an irritating habit of doing that. John for the life of him could not figure out what was wrong, because of course he could tell that much. Sherlock was evasive to all questions and while that wasn't unusual he had an air of nervous energy about him that was worrying. John knew better than to pry though, so when he felt the the energy might explode out of Sherlock he would wrap his arms around the tall man and tell him that whatever was going on, they would be fine and that he was sure Sherlock had a reason for keeping him out, but if he wanted to talk John would always listen. The morning that Harry was getting out of the hospital was rainy. Sherlock snorted when he saw it and muttered "Pathetic fallacy" under his breath. John simply sighed and insinuated that they should bring an umbrella with them. They didn't. Clara met them at the door and they walked to Harry's room together. When they reached the corridor she was on however Sherlock stopped. "What?" John asked tilting his head at Sherlock. "You two go ahead, I have a few things to tell Lestrade first and he's going rolled ring in about twelve seconds." Sure enough Sherlock's phone rang and John smirked at him before leading Clara into Harry's room.

Harry was seated on the end of the bed, waiting for them. She motioned to the chairs beside her in silence, and the air became thick with tension. Suddenly John was anxious. His gut was saying this was not a good thing. "John here's my chart. Read it carefully and then I'm going to tell you something ok? But you both have to promise me right now that you'll understand where I'm coming from ok?" Harry pleaded with them both and if it hadn't before now John's stomach was on the floor and his heart in his mouth. His hands were steady when he picked up the chart. "Oh  _Harry_ " he gasped, reading and re-reading the irrefutable evidence before him. "Why didn't you tell me?" Clara looked bewildered, but there were tears in her eyes. A part of her already knew. "I didn't want you to worry because I have a plan." John frowned, swallowing down his shock and sadness at this news "Harry there's nothing you can do to change this, it's not going to get better" John said calmly. "I know" she soothed "I know. I'm dying, every second we sit here talking about it _I'm_   _dying_  a little bit more and yeah, it's scary as hell and I don't want it to happen but it's going to,  _it is_  happening and I want to go on my own terms. I don't want to suffer. That's why I'm going to Switzerland tonight for some assistance. I'm  _ready_  Clara, Johnny. My affairs, few though they are, are in order and you know what? I'm happy. I have you both back at my side. That's why I'm going today. This afternoon in fact. I'll spend a day in the alps and then go to the hospital and then they'll bury me there in the snow. No negations. I'm going. If it makes it easier you can always imagine that I'm just living in Switzerland now." Harry was sure, that much was clear to both John and Clara. Once that woman made up her mind there was no stopping her from going through with her plans. Even in death, Harry Watson was going to be stubborn.

Oddly, John couldn't actually say that he felt an overwhelming sense of grief, or that the thought of never seeing his sister again made him nauseous. He knew that this was the right decision for Harry, and that was all he could ask for. Some people never got this chance, to choose how they greeted death, he almost hadn't, the people Sherlock worked cases for didn't, and nearly everyone else didn't either. So, when Harry looked at him, pleading not to argue, gave him the same look she had years earlier when she'd first become an alcoholic, he knew that he should tell the truth. "I couldn't imagine a more fitting choice Harry. I've supported you this far, and it's not going to stop now. I'll come with you to the airport later, any last requests?" Clara gave him a grateful smile through her tears, they needed to be alone and he understood. "Use the eggs Johnny, don't just leave them there to waste away ok? Oh, and don't you dare name them Harriet or any permutations there of, God I  _hate_  that name!" Harry laughed, the noise so alien in the somber mood that John couldn't help but laugh too, deep full body chuckles that left him short of breath. This, he thought, this is how I'll remember my sister.

"How do you manage to  _dress yourself_  in the morning Lestrade? It's hardly a difficult deduction. Obviously he was a heavy gambler who bit off more than he could chew when he tried to swindle a group of dealers and accrued a small fortune that only garnered more attention, when he was sought out he defended himself but ultimately managed to kill himself and the man sent to rob him at the same time. Class it how you will, you're looking for the neighbour, 6'2", glasses, works in the local deli restaurant, will recommend the pot pie, don't eat it unless you've got a hankering for salmonella." Sherlock hung up on the detective, it wasn't even an interesting case but he'd been so edgy that he'd had to do something. At least now he'd be able to act normally, well, what they passed as normal, around John. No sooner had the thought popped into his mind and John appeared, upset, obviously, but not to a degree where it would affect their every waking moment. Acceptance of the situation was the predominant emotion. No five stages of grief for John, but the man had been a soldier, death, violent and bloody and agonizing had Ben his life. This,a quiet slipping away would be almost like a gift. He needn't have nightmares of wasting away and writhing in agony."Sherlock? Hello?" John was waving a hand in front of his face. "Mm? What did she say?" Sherlock asked nonchalantly, smiling encouragingly and strolling away with John at his side. "Asked us to use her gift and not to even think of using the name Harry." John half smiled "She always did hate that name."

When John got home from the airport (he'd insisted that Sherlock not go, even though he'd only offered to be polite) he said nothing, but Sherlock could tell, he could always tell, and he knew that if it had been him and Mycroft at that airport, he would be a disaster, and they weren't even close. Baker street was rather subdued that night, Sherlock lay back on the couch with John wrapped in his arms in the almost entirely dark room. "Clara decided she'd go too, with Harry." Sherlock held him closer "You follow me on cases." John did, he followed Sherlock into nearly certain death over and over to keep him safe, watch over him, so he wouldn't be alone if he did get hurt. "Thanks." John muttered into the shoulder of Sherlock's shirt, closing his eyes and trying to sleep as Sherlock ran a hand up and down his back. And if, during the night, John was restless and shaking, or if Sherlock could feel the tears that would never see the light of day, neither said anything. He simply held tighter, and hummed melodies into John's ear for hours and hours on end.

A short text was all that alerted them to the fact that Harry was no longer a living, breathing organism. The world did not stop turning, people did not enquire as to her whereabouts as if they could somehow feel that something was wrong, and John did not cry again. He did stop the clocks and cover the mirrors because "that was what was done when any Watson died and he would not be the one to stop the tradition now." Their lives went on. Clara did not come home from Switzerland, choosing to live in the town adjacent to the cemetery because she should have had more time at Harry's side anyway. That was all they wanted, more time. Not for the first time, Sherlock was immesurably grateful that he had met John, because now he knew exactly how it would feel to lose someone you loved. All the time in the world would never be enough.

**A/N: Yes, it's a filler chapter, I don't even... I mean... This was not where I was going to go with this!? HOW DOES IT KEEP HAPPENING?! First dcharacter death I've had to write or rather pointedly not write because I am so not ready to subject myself (and all of you) to that cesspit of misery. I'm definiteley going to resolve the Mycroft/greg situation in the next chapter and there'll probably also be a bit of wedding planning by the Mother figures so that'll be fun and then a time jump to just before the wedding!**

 


	26. Chapter 26

Mycroft fiddled absently with his cufflinks, then his pocket watch, and then the buttons on his waist coat before Lucia looked up from her phone. She had decided (much to Mycroft's embarrassment) that he needed an escort back to London to ensure he actually went. Lucia had a talent for stalling any meetings they were going to be late for, he'd never asked what she did to make it all ok with the leaders of the free world but he assumed it was just another one of the infinite ways she had become integral in his life (She flirted mercilessly with every single one, and they all flirted back. It shocked her at first when she received a reply from the queen but why not?) "Sir if you keep fidgeting I may be forced to give you a mild sedative." she chided, smirking at the latest message from the French president. "It will be fine, I'm sure Greg will understand." Mycroft sighed and looked out the window, watching as the familiar shores of England came into view "And what," he asked candidly, "will I do if he doesn't?" She gave him a half smile that he caught in the reflective surface. "We'll keep on fighting for him until he does sir, but I doubt it will come to that." Mycroft was not so certain of that. He'd acted in a way that was not befitting of a man of his station and treated Gregory horribly, all because he was afraid of getting hurt himself. The irony was not lost on him. "I hope you are right." he sighed and picked up his umbrella as they began to descend. Nervousness was clawing uncomfortably at his stomach, and with the genuine fear of rejection and resignation to the latter Mycroft was a veritable bag of heightened emotion, the majority of which he never felt in his everyday life and most certainly not to this extent. 'You stop wars and fight terrorists' he thought to himself 'this is a mere trifle compared to some of the things you have done'. But it wasn't, this was so much bigger than that, this was the only person he had loved outside of his family - which included Lucia, and perhaps his horses. Sentiment. "Oh Gregory what have you done to me?" he muttered softly and rose, disembarking straight into a black sedan. "Home please David, thank you."  
Greg was cold. Bloody freezing actually, as polar winds swept through London with malice and carrying frost to boot. He'd decided long ago that weather, unless extreme and dangerous to his person in general, would never be an acceptable excuse to avoid exercise if he had the time. Since he didn't have work and he wasn't sure if he had Mycroft, he had plenty of time to run. The extensive grounds of Mycroft's home were perfect for it, idyllic forest trails and stony lake front were rather picturesque running spots. It was good to clear his head after a case, and right now his head was filled with anxiety about the state of his maybe nonexistent relationship. He sighed wearily, watching his breath as it curled away from him in smoky tendrils of warm air. He sighed again, it would be really nice to get a week where everything was easy and straight forward for once. Snorting at the ridiculously low likelihood of that ever happening Greg kept his pace up in time with the music blaring in his ears, loud enough to drown out his own thoughts. Ever since he had started working as a beat cop he'd taken great care to exercise as often as possible, the stamina and general fitness were reward enough without even thinking about the physical benefits, and he'd developed a routine that was the same now as it had been years ago, but with some different music choices and new scenery. The forest flew by him as he ran, leaves and twigs cracking underfoot. If he was honest, which he was, he had to admit that the main reason behind his impromptu burst of activity was the absence of Mycroft in the house. It was, after all, Mycroft's home, and at the moment it seemed as if he'd driven the other man out. Not that it would have changed anything if he had, because it was not possible to do anything in the house without thinking of him, Greg hadn't slept in their bed the entire time Mycroft had been away, it was too cold, too quiet without him there. Yes, they'd both had their fair share if nights alone but this was over a fortnight, and communications were down between them, leaving Greg feeling the cold on all fronts (he wondered absently when the other side of the bed had become the empty side in his mind.) Steeling himself for the very real possibility of a callous casting aside by Mycroft was more difficult than he'd anticipated, he mused as he stretched at the lake front, admiring the low blanket of mist that hung over the still lake while warming down. It was a bit shite, but he resigned himself to the fact that the situation was not going to change until Mycroft came back to confront him and probably kick him out. God this was going to be awkward, he could only profess to having truly loved about three partners in his life, a girl he'd dated in Uni, his ex wife and now Mycroft. The girl he'd dated in Uni had simply emigrated to India to teach and never returned, and his wife had been a fiasco, constant work and her tendency to stray just crumbled what had once been a wonderful relationship. Mycroft… They'd just barely begun seeing each other after Sherlock and John finally got together, and apart from being naked, in riding gear or clad in pyjamas Greg hadn't even seen the man out of a suit, but he was invested in this whole heartedly, and now they would part without Mycroft ever knowing that he loved him, regardless of whether he wanted that love or not, and they'd gotten so close too. Greg shook his head as if that would somehow dislodge the thoughts and images flitting across his mind and hopped twice on the spot before sprinting off, heading back to the house to shower.  
"Do you have a plan?" Lucia asked softly from the seat next to him. "Of sorts." Mycroft replied, aiming for nonchalance and missing the mark by far. "Apologising for my actions of late will obviously be the first port of call, after that… Well." and Mycroft shrugged a shoulder, falling silent. "You should tell him how you feel - sir" Lucia quipped, adding on the term of respect only because of the presence of another in the car. "And why on Earth would I do that? Why open oneself up to ridicule and pain in that way? You say that Gregory will not be cruel, but all people are cruel with the hearts of others" Mycroft spat, his nervousness giving way to anger " I have seen it everyday, people making false declarations of affection, born of greed and lust for power when in actuality they are mocking their partner. I refused a long time ago to allow that to happen to me, and up until this point I have kept to my beliefs. All lives end, all hearts are broken and caring is not an advantage." Lucia gave him a sidelong glance, her face a picture of melancholy. "But you docare, and so does Greg. An Iceman is a man nonetheless, and this particular Iceman has been granted the unbelievably good fortune of finding someone who sees past the icy exterior and cares for you anyway, and deserves to know that he isn't alone in it. Just… Don't discount it yet. Talk to him." Mycroft snorted and turned away from her once more, but he didn't say he wouldn't do it, and that was enough for her. Pulling up to the manor Mycroft gritted his teeth against the memories it sparked, how Gregory had stared pink cheeked and open mouthed at the grandeur— "No." he admonished himself as he slid gracefully from the car. "I'll be back from Vienna within the week, text if you need me" Lucia smiled softly and closed the door, and Mycroft watched as the car drove away from him from the same spot on the driveway. There was nothing to do but go inside and apologise, he had to, but God if his heart beat any faster it would probably explode. 'Wouldn't that just be hilarious' he thought to himself as he turned his key in the lock 'to be constantly sought after by mercenaries, terrorists, foreign officials, only to die of an impromptu heart attack because you're terrified to confess to the man you invited to live with you. Good show Mycroft, really, that's a fitting way to die.'

Try though he did to keep the noise made by the door to a minimum, in the relative silence of the house he may as well have slammed it. Gregory did not appear at the sound, in fact no one did. Mycroft looked around, observing his home for a few minutes. "Dust is eloquent" Sherlock's voice reverberated in his mind as he flicked from one thing to the next. Clearly Gregory had been there only a few hours ago, but that didn't mean he was here now. He started for the kitchen, but thought the better of it a step later. Perhaps the kitchen was better left alone, for if it were to be empty, Mycroft would honestly not know what to do with himself. These days it was Gregory who make sure it was kept stocked with whatever he needed to cook for them both and he would not have left any perishable food behind him, simply because that would have been wasteful, most definitely not out of any lingering affection he held for Mycroft. No. Instead Mycroft decided that he needed to go upstairs and sleep, any of the guest rooms would do, he would not be able to bring himself to sleep in their bed.

Greg arrived back at the manor sweating steadily even with the cold and traipsed wearily in through the back door, wary of trecking old withering leaves into the foyer because he had told the cleaners Yolanda and Samuel that they may as well take a week off and the sweeping brush was hidden somewhere that he had yet to discover. His fingers burned slightly at the sudden transition from one extreme temperature to another, but he relished the feel of warm air on his skin again and it helped him to resolutely ignore the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach at the thought of his being forced to leave Mycroft. He gulped water straight from the tap before heading up to shower. All the bathrooms in Mycroft's house were top quality, ivory tiled utopias of fine design and equipped with large showers and the occasional bathtub. The shower could comfortably hold at least three people at a time and Greg snorted a laugh to himself when he tried to imagine Mycroft having a threesome. The man had been astounded that Greg had wanted him in the first place, he didn't seem like he'd be comfortable showing such vulnerability to two people, he was very sensitive about his body, though Greg could not fathom why, all that pale, freckled skin... There was that sick feeling again. Greg stepped into the spray and cleaned himself thoroughly, Mycroft had thought himself sly when he'd surreptitiously placed Greg's preffered brand of body wash into every single one. Once he was clean and clothed a bit more Greg dumped his sweaty clothes into the wash and put his earphones back in while he dried his hair with his towel and sang along quietly. "Can't start a fire, can't start a fire without a spark, this gun's for hire, even if we're just dancing in the dark" Greg bobbed along to the music and didn't notice when someone opened the door.  
Mycroft decided the first room on the left was as good as any and didn't hesitate to open the door. The sight that met him was unexpected to say the very least. Gregory was there, a shock in and of itself, and he hadn't seemed to notice Mycroft's presence at all as he was still singing to himself and nodding his head in time to what Mycroft guessed was something by Springsteen while he dried his hair roughly with a towel. He was not prepared for the impromptu spin that brought them face to face. "Mycroft!" Greg yelped, surprise evident even over the blush. "I thought… Luc said maybe Thursday… Eh… I'll just um… Should I…?" Greg stumbled over words, babbling nearly incoherently, but Mycroft caught the sentiment and rushed to intervene. "No! No. Gregory I… I have treated you in a manner that is truly abominable and I, I apologise. You do not deserve that. You deserve far better." Mycroft held what wanted to come next in his throat, even as Greg's face fell, he couldn't say it. Greg tried to gauge what was happening, but all his theories reached the same conclusion, that this was a variant of the 'it's not you it's me' conversation, and he didn't know what he was supposed to do because he'd not been punched in the gut in a while but if he could remember it correctly it felt a lot like this.  
"Um. I accept your apology? I'll just get out of your hair… But Mycroft… I… I eh… I do you know." Mycroft was utterly bamboozled. If he was accepting his apology what was he doing leaving? Wrong! Mycroft's brain was yelling at him. "Gregory…what—" Greg screwed his face up and ran a hand through his hair, barking out a mirthless laugh. "It shouldn't be so bloody hard, you know? I told myself that no matter what I would do this but now it's happening… I want you to know even though you hurt me… Must be a masochist… But I'm going to do it anyway, just for you. You could never accept a compliment, or that I would want someone like you, no matter how often I repeated it, you were always going to be too fat, or pale, or

freckled, or cold, or empty for yourself, but not for me. So, even though you're dumping me, and that's not exactly a pleasant thought, you should know that at least one person is in love with you in the world, and I have been for a long time now. Just thought you should know that it is possible." Greg smiled weakly into the silence that greeted him and slid past Mycroft to leave the room and Mycroft to their silence.

He'd packed most of his stuff away anyway, because this, this right here was exactly what he'd expected,didn't mean he felt any less like throwing up. He didn't regret a minute of their time together, and telling Mycroft that he loved him was the right thing to do even though it left him feeling rather empty. The man had to know that he was capable of being loved by someone. Greg rang for a taxi and grabbed his stuff, dumping it in front of the door. He'd hoped, deep down, that Mycroft would rs down the stairs to meet him and tell him that he'd gotten it wrong, that Mycroft loved him too and wanted him to stay, but when the doorbell rang with the cabbie Mycroft hadn't reappeared and he was forced to accept the stark reality of his situation. He closed the door quietly behind him, not wanting to intrude anymore than he already had. "Tufton street please mate." he instructs the driver who took a quick look at him and his ample baggage and drove off in silence. Greg had never been so thankful for it in his life.  
Mycroft had frozen when Gregory had professed that he loved him, his mind had shut down within moments, the implication of the statement so devastating that his mind had attempted to connect it to their every interaction, to reconcile with the idea that was even possible after years of being conditioned by his father to believe only the worst of himself. He didn't notice that Greg had left, hadn't paid attention to anything else that had been said until much later. "Wait, Gregory! Gre—" he sprinted to their room and was hit with the realisation that it was empty, All Gregory's belongings were gone, his bedside table cleared, the singular photo of the two of them gone (they hadn't even been aware it was being taken, they weren't posing together at all, it was just of Mycroft watching Greg from across the room with a soft smile on his face as Greg laughed at something John had said). Mycroft fell into an armchair and put his head in his hands. He was an idiot of the highest calibre to have let Gregory go. It was his own fault of course, looking back on their altercation he could not blame him for thinking that Mycroft was trying to, as they say, let him down easy, and when he had confessed that he loved him Mycroft should have been there, with him, telling him that he felt the same way, but instead he'd retreated into his head and screwed everything up royally.  
His phone rang, and for a moment he was tempted to let it ring out, but that would just add more issues to the pile he had accrued so he picked up. "Mycroft Holmes" he answered dully, hoping this would be over soon so he could wallow. "What did you do?!" Lucia's voice, tight and strained washed over him. What had he done? "I apologised, but Gregory thought I was breaking off our relationship and confessed that he loved me even still after leaving him and then he left." Lucia ground her teeth audibly "He tells you, as I knew that he would, that he's in love with you, and you just… Stand there in silence until he's gone?!" Mycroft made a small noise of assent. "Do you have any idea— My God sometimes— You don't even— Imagine my surprise when I get a text asking if surveillance on Greg should continue after his departure, I thought they were having me on, and imagine the shock I got when I said yes and asked for the feed only to find that they were being serious and that he was leaving, in a bloody taxi for Christ sake! At least half an houryou had to go downstairs and fix everything but no! I don't… I never wanted to see my friend like this Mycroft." She put herself on hold with that and his text alert pinged, and even though he didn't press anything the message opened to show him a high resolution photo of Greg's face as he was leaving. He was ashen, mouth held in a tight line, but the real kicker were his eyes, always full of sparkle and laughter, they were dead, glassy and vaguely unseeing, giving him a lost look. "You need to fix it Mycroft, go find him and tell him that you love him too and that you're an idiot because you are, and he might not take you back after this but you have to try do you hear me? I've sent the car around, I have a meeting to get to, but if, in the next hour, you haven't tried your damnedest to get that man back, I will kick you so hard you won't remember your own name." She hung up indignantly and Mycroft ran a hand through his hair. She was right to be mad at him of course, she had tried to tell him to swallow his fear but he'd reverted to cowardice and hurt not only himself, but Gregory in the process. The look on his face… There was a burning behind his eyes that he hadn't experienced since his youth and when David arrived he attempted to pull himself together, though the older man's eyes told him that he knew all anyway. Mycroft didn't even have to say the address.

Martha Hudson lifted a large sheath of soft fabric and held it up to Orabelle who nodded vigorously and returned to whispered negotiations with the caterers that were only occasionally recognisable as English. She smiled to herself and let her hands run over reems of silken fabrics in an effort to find the perfect colour scheme for the wedding. Her boys were so different physically, matching colours to both of their skin types was proving to be a task to remember. Not that she was complaining, spending all this time with an old friend while working on something that would make her boys so happy was nothing to complain about at all, and quite aside from anything else she was loving the hours in which the function room at Holmes manor was transformed into a wedding extravaganza for just the two of them to pick and choose over. Today's setup had to be by far her favourite, as the colour scheme was to be decided, so too were the flowers, which meant the heady aroma of flowers permeated the entire building and the vast array of colours and shapes left her feeling as if she'd taken a trip to the botanical gardens by mistake. "That should do it, keeping in mind the strange whims of the Holmes family" the chef smiled knowingly at Orabelle who shrugged "we should be covered. I'll leave you to work then." she dismissed him and glided over to where Mrs Hudson was scrutinizing three swatches of fabric. "What are you thinking dear?" she asked, holding up all three for them to critique. "Well, the unicorn is a must, but the accent will be a more difficult choice." Mrs Hudson hummed in agreement and put the silvery silk to one side, pitting the final two colours against each other. "Midnight blue or Lavender… I think the blue, I mean both of them have these lovely blue hues to their eyes" Martha looked across at her friend who smiled and plucked the blue from her hand. "Perfect, Martha. Silver* for Sherlock's shirt, I won't even bother attempting to get that boy into a tie and Blue for John's with…" the two of them had strolled into the flower forest as they spoke and Belle pursed her lips as she scanned the room for the perfect button hole bloom. "these!" she exclaimed excitedly and plucked two stems from the pile. Martha chuckled. They wouldn't know what hit them come April.  
David pulled up to Greg's building slowly, narrowly avoiding mowing down the gangs of youths that were crowding the streets. "Good luck sir." he smiled at Mycroft as he exited the vehicle, smoothing his waistcoat and swallowing the lump in his throat he pressed the buzzer of the apartment below Gregory's, owned by a young lady who had taken to simply letting him up when Gregory was unavailable and pressed onwards. When he finally reaches the door, he hesitated. The only way he had any chance at all of convincing Gregory to come back to him would be if he was truly honest about his feelings. Emotions, sentiment, they were not things he spoke of, or until rather recently, allowed himself to feel. He hesitated. But only momentarily. Knocking on the door he could almost taste his heart in his mouth. Footsteps padded to the door and it opened, and Gregory looked angry for a second but his expression dripped into the resigned annoyance he had shown Mycroft when they'd first met, with a seal of hurt beneath it. "Oh. Sherlock is at home, John's sister died there a few days ago so. If you want an update you should ask him." Greg deadpanned, looking at him emptily. Mycroft nearly choked at that, the callous way in which he had been demoted back to 'The man who I tell about Sherlock and nothing else'. "Gregory—" Greg wrapped his arms around himself "Don't. Don't call me that." Mycroft ran a hand through his hair and looked back at him with pleading eyes "Please, Gregory, Allow me to explain myself. I… Please." Greg took in Mycroft, the dishevellment of his hair, his tie askew, he looked frantic and scared, and Greg had little choice but to let him in. He had to help people, that was why he had become a copper in the first place. Plus, Mycroft Holmes had just begged, and that just didn't happen. Slowly he opened the door and allowed Mycroft inside. Neither one sat down or moved from the hallway. Mycroft shuffled a bit and reached out his right hand as if to clasp the umbrella that should have been there but wasn't because that was his crutch, he needn't be honest as long as he could ground himself with it.  
"Gregory. When I apologised for my actions towards you I in no way intended for you to think I was leaving you, I understand totally of course that my lack of communication and the formal manner in which I phrased myself could be misleading. It was not my intention at all." Mycroft spewed out a few lines before stopping, for some reason his treacherous mouth refused to perform it's duties and say what he was feeling. Greg on the other side of the conversation merely frowned, eyebrows low over his eyes. "I texted every bloody day, like the fool I am, and you couldn't have replied once? Sorry but that's something you do when you want to end a relationship." Mycroft blurted a quick "I couldn't reply." To which Greg retorted with an angry "Why the hell not?!" and the floodgates were opened. "Because I realised that I love you Gregory and that you hold such sway over me that I honestly didn't think I would have been able to take it had I confessed this to you and been shot down. You have become something surpassing even this great nation to me and it is terrifying. It's not a situation I have found myself in before and it was… Debilitating to say the least. To have such an obvious weakness… You're my jugular vein Gregory and I see it now. My greatest liability. But a worthwhile one. I was sure that you would feel… Less for me than I do for you, understandably because you are the catch in this relationship, but if I spoke to you, I wouldn't have been able to contain myself, and that would have been wrong too. I just didn't want you to leave, a plan which backfired spectacularly." Mycroft met Greg's eyes, his voice cracking with raw emotion like he'd never allowed before. "I love you Gregory, more than life itself. When you told me that you loved me earlier I had a… Mild malfunction of the mind shall we say. It's just hard to believe that anyone, let alone someone like you would love someone like me. I should never have let you go, and if you see fit to come home, I will not allow us to be parted by any force ever again." Brown eyes met blue for what seemed like a lifetime of silence and Mycroft nodded cordially before spinning on his heel.  
A calloused hand shot out and clutched his elbow, twirling him back around within an inch of Greg's face. "I love you too." Greg murmured almost against Mycroft's lips, causing the British government to shiver just before their lips met. It was warm, a passionate caress of silken lips and tongues and Greg wished more than anything that he could preserve this feeling, this elation and hope because one day, who knew when, he would feel the all consuming loneliness that he'd felt that afternoon again, but if he could just bottle up this moment right here, he'd be happy everyday for the rest of his life.

Unicorn is technically *silver, it's much more pale and almost white.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, I've been rather tied up :) Also sorry for the terrible lack of proper paragraphs but if you do this on a mobile like I do it tends to be a bit messy

Christmas arrived startlingly quickly, dropping onto the residents of baker street with a soft whisper of snow and the smell of mulled wine wafting upwards from Mrs Hudson's. Harry's death meant that John was the last of the Watson's left, and that realisation brought an unprecedented level of melancholy to the holiday season for him. "It's silly I know" he'd sniffed into Sherlock's shoulder during one of his weaker (mildly tipsy) moments "but I'm missing the stupid fights, me telling her off for being an idiot and her giving out to me for being such an interfering bastard." Sherlock, having avoided Christmas with the family for the last six years, knew that he was not going to get away with that this year, not now that Mummy could show off his new relationship. The society types that the Holmes family dealt with wouldn't read anything as trivial as a blog, so their knowledge of his engagement was likely to be nonexistent. As it was he got the feeling that John would prefer to be around people this year, anything to take his mind off the sibling he'd lost. Sherlock couldn't deny that he understood the way John was feeling. Loath though he was to admit it, if the same were to happen to Mycroft he'd be devastated. Mycroft had been integral in his young life, the only time (apart from now) that he could remember being truly content. Certainly they argued, and out-doing the other was a pastime that they had down to an art, insults were a given, but beneath it all was a fierce loyalty and kinship that meant they would protect each other - always (Well, almost. The Moriarty debacle was a black spot on the record but in honesty Sherlock had forgiven it already.) He soothed John whenever he deduced his love needed the comfort of his presence, proud that he was the only thing that would make John's shoulders relax, the person he would sink back against or clutch tightly.  
With all this in mind, Sherlock propositioned John over tea. "From Christmas eve to New years day." John peered at him over the top of the paper "Are you going to elaborate or is this one of those times I'm supposed to be able to deduce what you mean because if it is I don't think you'll be very pleased…" Sherlock rolled his eyes, smirking slightly. "Those are the dates during which we have been invited, or rather ordered, to stay with Mummy. The Holmes Christmas calendar is rather full and utterly dull for the most part, however I've never had a John there with me before so I cannot say with any certainty that it would be the same this time around. We're looking at Christmas dinner with the family, As in Mummy, Mycroft, myself, and hopefully you and Lestrade. Boxing day is for relaxation after the affairs of the day before, and up until New years eve we should mostly be left to our own devices. New years eve is the night of Mummy's annual party and it's a tedious affair filled almost exclusively with vacuous people that I detest and that reciprocate the sentiment. The only people in attendance worth meeting would be my cousins Sherrinford and Aurora and their families." John snickered into his paper. "I can't believe how mad your names are! I have never heard of anyone outside of a Disney movie called Aurora and Sherrinford well that's just… But you like them?" Sherlock glowered and played with the handle of his cup. "Like is not a term I would generally apply, but I suppose in this case it's applicable. They're part of the French quarter of the family so we didn't meet very often, but being of similar age and sharing a dislike of the events we were forced to attend… Yes I suppose I like them." John smiled. It had taken a long enough time to get Sherlock to admit that he considered some people to be his friends, and to know that he had family members, albeit foreign ones that he barely saw, that he liked was comforting. The idea of a young Sherlock being tormented and lonely tore at John's heart even now and if these two cousins offered a brief respite from that he was sure he would love to meet them. "Alright, it's been a while since you spent Christmas with your family anyway" he grinned "plus this will give me the chance to see any baby pictures!" Sherlock groaned and John laughed happily, forgetting at least for the time being his melancholy.  
Mycroft was in a bloody fantastic mood, having woken up wrapped in a warm Gregory and spent a very enjoyable shower in his company, and as a result he was doing some of his best work, apparently a good shag does wonders for the state of the government. In fairness, the past fortnight or so had been great from a work and relationship standpoint. After the major misunderstanding and subsequent reconciliation, affairs between himself and Gregory had been phenomenal. It still astounded him to know that Gregory loved him, that had been reiterated many times, whispered into worshipped skin over and over. Mycroft blushed a small bit thinking about it, and rolled his eyes at the knowing smirk Lucia gave him. "Yes yes,alright, now be sure to tell Francoise that we are not free until the new year and even then I do expect him to have resolved the issue before that. Also, remind Vikram of his precarious position and ensure he is place under level three surveillance before we go." Lucia frowned in confusion and then chastised herself "Of course, Christmas with Mummy, I'd all but forgotten." Mycroft gave a small smile and ran a hand through his hair. "Indeed. Sherlock will once again be in attendance but with John at his side I am hoping we can avoid any major incidents. We will have to pick them, Gregory, and our luggage up later on today." He shuddered sightly at the thought of the sniping that would occur. Shaking his head he runded back on Lucia. "What about your latest conquest, have you put your plan into action?" Lucia gasped and Mycroft just raised his brow, he was not an easy man to hide things from and though he'd been surprised he could not say that he disapproved of her choice. It had become clear to him when she returned from Vienna that there was someone at home she wanted to see, but as it happened that was only, and evidently still was, in a friendly capacity. He tutted good naturedly at her "Come along dear, Miss Hooper is a lovely woman and would be lucky to have you. I am reliably informed that she will be in attendance on New Years eve, midnight is a wonderful hour, don't you think?" Lucia gave a wry grin and shrugged "I'm working on it sir. Her majesty has requested that she be formally introduced to Greg, perhaps for afternoon tea after the holidays and she would like you to thank him, your brother and Dr Watson for their service to the country. In other words she's understandably very curious about your love life." Mycroft checked his watch and rose, continuing to give instructions as he moved to the door to leave. "Accept her invitation and set a date, take a look at Gregory's schedule first obviously, and I want full daily updates on Tedison's work while we're away. I do not want to return to another Egypt fiasco like David left us. We will of course be available in an emergency but preferably I want no interruptions. I've been neglecting Mummy something awful recently and I intend to make up for that in these next few days."  
Greg yawned blearily at his desk, attempting for the third time to focus on filling in the report he'd been working on all afternoon. He was exhausted, not that he was complaining about that at all. Magically, he'd been given over a week off this year, and today was his last before the holidays so he really did need to do the damned report but every minute that ticked by just made him want to do it less. There was a confident knock on his door and he jumped, scrambling to make it look like he had been working. "Calm down Lestrade it's only me." Sally chuckled as she swept into the office and dumped a coffee in front of him. "Come on, you need a break." Greg sighed and leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on the desk. He'd gotten much closer to Sally since she'd told Anderson off and left him, it seemed that she was a much more confident and generally pleasant person without him, and he without her. Anderson was still an annoying, homophobic dick though. She was the only person he'd trusted enough at the Yard to tell about Mycroft, and while she'd been surprised, she fully supported anything that made him happy, and it was great to have somebody to chat to at work, or to help make excuses when Mycroft visited and he couldn't be reached because they were 'discussing top secret government matters that didn't concern you and please go away now'. Grinning, Sally settled cross-legged into her chair and pulled out a doughnut which she split in half "You get what, a whole week off?" she queried, licking sugar from her fingers. Greg smirked "Eight days actually, Nine if you count the fact that I'm leaving here in about an hour." Sally groaned "Lucky bastard! I need to get me a nice respectable government running boyfriend that wants to whisk me away to his family manor for the holidays." He nodded in understanding, the Mycroft effect was pretty astonishing, and he could remember a time not so long ago where that had pissed him off royally. Greg sipped his coffee gratefully and lost himself in thought, looking fondly back to when he'd first been kidnapped to meet the older brother of a drug addicted kid that had helped solve a few cases while high as a kite he'd convinced to get clean in exchange for access to crime scenes: Mycroft Holmes. "Oi! Lestrade! You in there? I said you'd better pack this stuff away now if you want to be ready in time for Mr. 'Take you to my country estate with a stable after I finish a quick game of croquet with the Queen'. Sally chuckled at Greg's blush (she didn't know just how accurate that statement was. Seriously. It happened. Thrice.) and wished him a merry Christmas before sneaking out of his office and back to her desk. He really should have finished those reports, but it was quite satisfying to just pop them in a drawer and know that he'd not have to look at them for a week.  
He'd just finished up clearing his desk a bit when there was a sharp rap on the door that he'd gotten so familiar with he didn't even bother inviting them in he just hopped up and wrapped them in a hug. "How are you then…?" Lucia smirked "Holly this time Greg" he laughed "Festive." Ignoring the stares the two of them were getting, Greg held back the urge to skip along excitedly as they made their way out to the car that held Mycroft. Lucia had been busy, astoundingly so, the amount of work she had to do had meant she hadn't seen Greg at all since sending Mycroft home from Vienna. Even now she was tapping away at her blackberry, scheduling, checking the news, spying and hacking with ease. "Busy I take it then Hols?" Lucia laughed, a high tinkle that never failed to make Greg smile too. No matter what name she chose, Greg would abbreviate it, just to be contrary. "Quite. The more time he spends at home, the more time he doesn't spend on the phone with the government in Uzbekistan. Not that I begrudge him, anyone, that, just, piles the work up a bit more. It'll be fine again after the holidays, he always gets antsy for work during the holidays." Greg nodded along seriously. Mycroft was an important man, Sherlock hadn't been lying all those times he called him the British government, Secret Service and CIA on a freelance basis and his work was his life. No one else in the world could do what he does. The lift chimed and the pair stepped out talking of lighter things, and generally messing about as friends do. Stepping out into the open air was like a slap in the face. "Christ it's freezing!" Greg cursed and pushed forward through the snow to the idling car that awaited them. "Greg?" Lucia chirped. "Yeah Lu?" "Sherlock and John are in the car." He whipped round and to her credit he mused, she had the decency to look mildly ashamed that she'd kept that quiet until now. He loved both men obviously, but journey's with them were hellish enough when they were off to a crime scene, Which was why he was more than happy when the detective duo came along after him. Sighing, Greg tried to console himself with the knowledge that Mycroft was in there too. His eyes widened as the reality of that statement, Sherlock and Mycroft in a confined space, dawned on him. Dear God this was probably already a minefield. However, he wasn't made a DI for nothing, so Greg opened the side door of the 4x4 and his jaw nearly dropped at the sight of a sleeping Sherlock and a relaxed Mycroft. John grinned at him and gestured to the curly head in his lap. " Sleeping tabs" he whispered "he'll be out until we get there." "Dr Watson here endeavoured to make this trip a bearable one for us all." Mycroft added and pursed his lips in the way that Greg knew meant he was holding in a smile. Greg and Lucia clambered in and soon they were whizzing along the roads, somehow avoiding the worst of the traffic.  
John carded his hands through Sherlock's hair, pleased that he'd not really fussed when John had casually suggested that he would be better off asleep. He was of course, and while he drifted on the couch John was left to pack in peace for the both of them. "Presents are in the back of the wardrobe." Sherlock slurred against the cushions and sure enough a handful of wrapped gifts were sitting at the bottom of it, and John wondered how he'd managed to miss them. With a snort at the thought of Sherlock going gift shopping, he packed those tightly among suits and shirts and closed the suitcase zip with the satisfying sound of metal teeth joining together. Maneuvering Sherlock from the couch down to the car when it arrived was easier than it should have been, the man was so light it was difficult to reconcile the fragility of his body with the rest of him. Again John's mind flashed to thoughts of him as a porcelain doll, beautiful, fragile and pale, angelic in the snowy evening light. Sherlock curled like a child against him, a scene that caused Mycroft's eyebrows to all but fly off his face when Henry opened the car door for them and John slid inside, rolling Sherlock onto his lap for the sake of both of their comfort. John  
smiled placidly at Mycroft, who's shoulders had finally relaxed once he was certain Sherlock was not going to be difficult. Yes, they had been more civil towards each other recently, but long car journeys had always been a point of contention for them and he didn't want to be on bad terms before they even started this holiday. Once Greg arrived with Anthea/Holly ("Her real name is Lucia John why do you insist on using whatever paltry name she deigns to give?" he'd sighed and attempted to explain that it would be wrong to use her name before he was given it but Sherlock had just snorted about his morals being unbelievable.) there was friendly banter between the men with the occasional quip from Holly and then they were pulling out of London and into the country.  
It was dark, the real , true dark of a place uninhabited by people, lit by stars only when they reached the intricate metal gates that lead the way to the largest of the Holmes mansions. A towering monument to pre-victorian architectural style, the whole party were gratified to see lights still on, they were eagerly awaited. Like clockwork Sherlock's eyes fluttered open as soon as the engine stopped purring and he pushed himself up from John's lap and into alert wakefulness in minutes, time John was definitely willing to spend as the others alighted the car and the door opened. "Hello." John murmured at his sleepy detective when he himself had clambered out and held a hand into the car to lead him out too, and was pleased when he responded only with a langorous smile and an almost dainty use of the offered limb as he swept out into the cold air with the unfathomable grace he just possessed. "Come inside Sherlock, John, before we have two new additions to the ice sculptures tomorrow!" Orabelle Holmes called from the doorway, her voice carried to them by the wind as it swirled with flakes of ivory, hitting the already blanketed ground and Sherlock stood, hand still in John's, marvelling in the warm butterscotch of his gaze and John was happy to let him, he wasn't feeling the cold anyway, not when he was watching Sherlock's halo of snow form. In fact, they could have stayed that way, frozen together all night. "You are beautiful" John barely breathed it, and Sherlock's slight selfdeprecating smile, he fell just a little more in love with him. "Let's get you inside love, before you catch your death." Sherlock nodded once and John spun them round to go inside and was promptly startled by the gang of people standing staring at them from the sitting room windows. "They are rather sweet aren't they" Lucia/Anthea/Holly quipped, and Greg elbowed her with a laugh "you've gone soft Hols really, just a carebear in disguise" as he breathed on the glass and drew a little heart with his finger, pointing at the couple walking up the drive. Simultaneous two fingered salutes were the response, and even Mycroft had to laugh at that.  
Once the snow speckled couple had 'finally deigned to grace us with your presence' Orabelle lead them all upstairs, chattering on as they went. "Let's see… tomorrow lunch will be served at two thirty, I invited dear Martha to join us but she's visiting her sister for the holidays so it will just be the six of us. I am assuming that you all brought presents?" she asked with a sly glance at the suitcases laying at the doors to their respective rooms. "We can do presents afterwards, and then in the evening les Holmes français ont arrivé which is perfect because I for one have been waiting an awfully long time to hear -" Greg attempted - in vain - to stifle a yawn and like the ordinary, doting mother she was Orabelle chivvied them all to bed. Within the pine scented confines of their room John splayed himself starfish style across the majority of the bed, Sherlock wouldn't be sleeping anyway. Sherlock lay with his violin clutched in his hands plucking the strings in a melancholy tone. "John?" he whispered, checking if his fiance was awake. "Yeah?" John called back to him, concern evident in his voice. Sherlock sounded unsure, and that just didn't happen. "I've been… researching." Sherlock paused dramatically and John waited for the second half of that sentence to arrive before he let his imagination run away with him. "Surrogates. I've been researching surrogates for us and I have realised that was probably not the best thing to do because most couples do this together and what not, and we're not yet married but… It's Christmas." and John, his wonderful, clever John, understood almost immediately. It was Christmas, and while they were surrounded by family and friends, there was a sense that the place was empty. He didn't want to spend another Christmas alone. "That's 'kay Sh'rlock, s'long as we make the final decision together I don't mind you doing your thing. We'll… start the whole process in motion when we get home?" Sherlock was upon him before he had the chance to register movement in the dark room.


	28. Chapter 28

Christmas arrived startlingly quickly, dropping onto the residents of baker street with a soft whisper of snow and the smell of mulled wine wafting upwards from Mrs Hudson's. Harry's death meant that John was the last of the Watson's left, and that realisation brought an unprecedented level of melancholy to the holiday season for him. "It's silly I know" he'd sniffed into Sherlock's shoulder during one of his weaker (mildly tipsy) moments "but I'm missing the stupid fights, me telling her off for being an idiot and her giving out to me for being such an interfering bastard." Sherlock, having avoided Christmas with the family for the last six years, knew that he was not going to get away with that this year, not now that Mummy could show off his new relationship. The society types that the Holmes family dealt with wouldn't read anything as trivial as a blog, so their knowledge of his engagement was likely to be nonexistent. As it was he got the feeling that John would prefer to be around people this year, anything to take his mind off the sibling he'd lost. Sherlock couldn't deny that he understood the way John was feeling. Loath though he was to admit it, if the same were to happen to Mycroft he'd be devastated. Mycroft had been integral in his young life, the only time (apart from now) that he could remember being truly content. Certainly they argued, and out-doing the other was a pastime that they had down to an art, insults were a given, but beneath it all was a fierce loyalty and kinship that meant they would protect each other - always (Well, almost. The Moriarty debacle was a black spot on the record but in honesty Sherlock had forgiven it already.) He soothed John whenever he deduced his love needed the comfort of his presence, proud that he was the only thing that would make John's shoulders relax, the person he would sink back against or clutch tightly.  
With all this in mind, Sherlock propositioned John over tea. "From Christmas eve to New years day." John peered at him over the top of the paper "Are you going to elaborate or is this one of those times I'm supposed to be able to deduce what you mean because if it is I don't think you'll be very pleased…" Sherlock rolled his eyes, smirking slightly. "Those are the dates during which we have been invited, or rather ordered, to stay with Mummy. The Holmes Christmas calendar is rather full and utterly dull for the most part, however I've never had a John there with me before so I cannot say with any certainty that it would be the same this time around. We're looking at Christmas dinner with the family, As in Mummy, Mycroft, myself, and hopefully you and Lestrade. Boxing day is for relaxation after the affairs of the day before, and up until New years eve we should mostly be left to our own devices. New years eve is the night of Mummy's annual party and it's a tedious affair filled almost exclusively with vacuous people that I detest and that reciprocate the sentiment. The only people in attendance worth meeting would be my cousins Sherrinford and Aurora and their families." John snickered into his paper. "I can't believe how mad your names are! I have never heard of anyone outside of a Disney movie called Aurora and Sherrinford well that's just… But you like them?" Sherlock glowered and played with the handle of his cup. "Like is not a term I would generally apply, but I suppose in this case it's applicable. They're part of the French quarter of the family so we didn't meet very often, but being of similar age and sharing a dislike of the events we were forced to attend… Yes I suppose I like them." John smiled. It had taken a long enough time to get Sherlock to admit that he considered some people to be his friends, and to know that he had family members, albeit foreign ones that he barely saw, that he liked was comforting. The idea of a young Sherlock being tormented and lonely tore at John's heart even now and if these two cousins offered a brief respite from that he was sure he would love to meet them. "Alright, it's been a while since you spent Christmas with your family anyway" he grinned "plus this will give me the chance to see any baby pictures!" Sherlock groaned and John laughed happily, forgetting at least for the time being his melancholy.  
Mycroft was in a bloody fantastic mood, having woken up wrapped in a warm Gregory and spent a very enjoyable shower in his company, and as a result he was doing some of his best work, apparently a good shag does wonders for the state of the government. In fairness, the past fortnight or so had been great from a work and relationship standpoint. After the major misunderstanding and subsequent reconciliation, affairs between himself and Gregory had been phenomenal. It still astounded him to know that Gregory loved him, that had been reiterated many times, whispered into worshipped skin over and over. Mycroft blushed a small bit thinking about it, and rolled his eyes at the knowing smirk Lucia gave him. "Yes yes,alright, now be sure to tell Francoise that we are not free until the new year and even then I do expect him to have resolved the issue before that. Also, remind Vikram of his precarious position and ensure he is place under level three surveillance before we go." Lucia frowned in confusion and then chastised herself "Of course, Christmas with Mummy, I'd all but forgotten." Mycroft gave a small smile and ran a hand through his hair. "Indeed. Sherlock will once again be in attendance but with John at his side I am hoping we can avoid any major incidents. We will have to pick them, Gregory, and our luggage up later on today." He shuddered sightly at the thought of the sniping that would occur. Shaking his head he runded back on Lucia. "What about your latest conquest, have you put your plan into action?" Lucia gasped and Mycroft just raised his brow, he was not an easy man to hide things from and though he'd been surprised he could not say that he disapproved of her choice. It had become clear to him when she returned from Vienna that there was someone at home she wanted to see, but as it happened that was only, and evidently still was, in a friendly capacity. He tutted good naturedly at her "Come along dear, Miss Hooper is a lovely woman and would be lucky to have you. I am reliably informed that she will be in attendance on New Years eve, midnight is a wonderful hour, don't you think?" Lucia gave a wry grin and shrugged "I'm working on it sir. Her majesty has requested that she be formally introduced to Greg, perhaps for afternoon tea after the holidays and she would like you to thank him, your brother and Dr Watson for their service to the country. In other words she's understandably very curious about your love life." Mycroft checked his watch and rose, continuing to give instructions as he moved to the door to leave. "Accept her invitation and set a date, take a look at Gregory's schedule first obviously, and I want full daily updates on Tedison's work while we're away. I do not want to return to another Egypt fiasco like David left us. We will of course be available in an emergency but preferably I want no interruptions. I've been neglecting Mummy something awful recently and I intend to make up for that in these next few days."  
Greg yawned blearily at his desk, attempting for the third time to focus on filling in the report he'd been working on all afternoon. He was exhausted, not that he was complaining about that at all. Magically, he'd been given over a week off this year, and today was his last before the holidays so he really did need to do the damned report but every minute that ticked by just made him want to do it less. There was a confident knock on his door and he jumped, scrambling to make it look like he had been working. "Calm down Lestrade it's only me." Sally chuckled as she swept into the office and dumped a coffee in front of him. "Come on, you need a break." Greg sighed and leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on the desk. He'd gotten much closer to Sally since she'd told Anderson off and left him, it seemed that she was a much more confident and generally pleasant person without him, and he without her. Anderson was still an annoying, homophobic dick though. She was the only person he'd trusted enough at the Yard to tell about Mycroft, and while she'd been surprised, she fully supported anything that made him happy, and it was great to have somebody to chat to at work, or to help make excuses when Mycroft visited and he couldn't be reached because they were 'discussing top secret government matters that didn't concern you and please go away now'. Grinning, Sally settled cross-legged into her chair and pulled out a doughnut which she split in half "You get what, a whole week off?" she queried, licking sugar from her fingers. Greg smirked "Eight days actually, Nine if you count the fact that I'm leaving here in about an hour." Sally groaned "Lucky bastard! I need to get me a nice respectable government running boyfriend that wants to whisk me away to his family manor for the holidays." He nodded in understanding, the Mycroft effect was pretty astonishing, and he could remember a time not so long ago where that had pissed him off royally. Greg sipped his coffee gratefully and lost himself in thought, looking fondly back to when he'd first been kidnapped to meet the older brother of a drug addicted kid that had helped solve a few cases while high as a kite he'd convinced to get clean in exchange for access to crime scenes: Mycroft Holmes. "Oi! Lestrade! You in there? I said you'd better pack this stuff away now if you want to be ready in time for Mr. 'Take you to my country estate with a stable after I finish a quick game of croquet with the Queen'. Sally chuckled at Greg's blush (she didn't know just how accurate that statement was. Seriously. It happened. Thrice.) and wished him a merry Christmas before sneaking out of his office and back to her desk. He really should have finished those reports, but it was quite satisfying to just pop them in a drawer and know that he'd not have to look at them for a week.  
He'd just finished up clearing his desk a bit when there was a sharp rap on the door that he'd gotten so familiar with he didn't even bother inviting them in he just hopped up and wrapped them in a hug. "How are you then…?" Lucia smirked "Holly this time Greg" he laughed "Festive." Ignoring the stares the two of them were getting, Greg held back the urge to skip along excitedly as they made their way out to the car that held Mycroft. Lucia had been busy, astoundingly so, the amount of work she had to do had meant she hadn't seen Greg at all since sending Mycroft home from Vienna. Even now she was tapping away at her blackberry, scheduling, checking the news, spying and hacking with ease. "Busy I take it then Hols?" Lucia laughed, a high tinkle that never failed to make Greg smile too. No matter what name she chose, Greg would abbreviate it, just to be contrary. "Quite. The more time he spends at home, the more time he doesn't spend on the phone with the government in Uzbekistan. Not that I begrudge him, anyone, that, just, piles the work up a bit more. It'll be fine again after the holidays, he always gets antsy for work during the holidays." Greg nodded along seriously. Mycroft was an important man, Sherlock hadn't been lying all those times he called him the British government, Secret Service and CIA on a freelance basis and his work was his life. No one else in the world could do what he does. The lift chimed and the pair stepped out talking of lighter things, and generally messing about as friends do. Stepping out into the open air was like a slap in the face. "Christ it's freezing!" Greg cursed and pushed forward through the snow to the idling car that awaited them. "Greg?" Lucia chirped. "Yeah Lu?" "Sherlock and John are in the car." He whipped round and to her credit he mused, she had the decency to look mildly ashamed that she'd kept that quiet until now. He loved both men obviously, but journey's with them were hellish enough when they were off to a crime scene, Which was why he was more than happy when the detective duo came along after him. Sighing, Greg tried to console himself with the knowledge that Mycroft was in there too. His eyes widened as the reality of that statement, Sherlock and Mycroft in a confined space, dawned on him. Dear God this was probably already a minefield. However, he wasn't made a DI for nothing, so Greg opened the side door of the 4x4 and his jaw nearly dropped at the sight of a sleeping Sherlock and a relaxed Mycroft. John grinned at him and gestured to the curly head in his lap. " Sleeping tabs" he whispered "he'll be out until we get there." "Dr Watson here endeavoured to make this trip a bearable one for us all." Mycroft added and pursed his lips in the way that Greg knew meant he was holding in a smile. Greg and Lucia clambered in and soon they were whizzing along the roads, somehow avoiding the worst of the traffic.  
John carded his hands through Sherlock's hair, pleased that he'd not really fussed when John had casually suggested that he would be better off asleep. He was of course, and while he drifted on the couch John was left to pack in peace for the both of them. "Presents are in the back of the wardrobe." Sherlock slurred against the cushions and sure enough a handful of wrapped gifts were sitting at the bottom of it, and John wondered how he'd managed to miss them. With a snort at the thought of Sherlock going gift shopping, he packed those tightly among suits and shirts and closed the suitcase zip with the satisfying sound of metal teeth joining together. Maneuvering Sherlock from the couch down to the car when it arrived was easier than it should have been, the man was so light it was difficult to reconcile the fragility of his body with the rest of him. Again John's mind flashed to thoughts of him as a porcelain doll, beautiful, fragile and pale, angelic in the snowy evening light. Sherlock curled like a child against him, a scene that caused Mycroft's eyebrows to all but fly off his face when Henry opened the car door for them and John slid inside, rolling Sherlock onto his lap for the sake of both of their comfort. John  
smiled placidly at Mycroft, who's shoulders had finally relaxed once he was certain Sherlock was not going to be difficult. Yes, they had been more civil towards each other recently, but long car journeys had always been a point of contention for them and he didn't want to be on bad terms before they even started this holiday. Once Greg arrived with Anthea/Holly ("Her real name is Lucia John why do you insist on using whatever paltry name she deigns to give?" he'd sighed and attempted to explain that it would be wrong to use her name before he was given it but Sherlock had just snorted about his morals being unbelievable.) there was friendly banter between the men with the occasional quip from Holly and then they were pulling out of London and into the country.  
It was dark, the real , true dark of a place uninhabited by people, lit by stars only when they reached the intricate metal gates that lead the way to the largest of the Holmes mansions. A towering monument to pre-victorian architectural style, the whole party were gratified to see lights still on, they were eagerly awaited. Like clockwork Sherlock's eyes fluttered open as soon as the engine stopped purring and he pushed himself up from John's lap and into alert wakefulness in minutes, time John was definitely willing to spend as the others alighted the car and the door opened. "Hello." John murmured at his sleepy detective when he himself had clambered out and held a hand into the car to lead him out too, and was pleased when he responded only with a langorous smile and an almost dainty use of the offered limb as he swept out into the cold air with the unfathomable grace he just possessed. "Come inside Sherlock, John, before we have two new additions to the ice sculptures tomorrow!" Orabelle Holmes called from the doorway, her voice carried to them by the wind as it swirled with flakes of ivory, hitting the already blanketed ground and Sherlock stood, hand still in John's, marvelling in the warm butterscotch of his gaze and John was happy to let him, he wasn't feeling the cold anyway, not when he was watching Sherlock's halo of snow form. In fact, they could have stayed that way, frozen together all night. "You are beautiful" John barely breathed it, and Sherlock's slight selfdeprecating smile, he fell just a little more in love with him. "Let's get you inside love, before you catch your death." Sherlock nodded once and John spun them round to go inside and was promptly startled by the gang of people standing staring at them from the sitting room windows. "They are rather sweet aren't they" Lucia/Anthea/Holly quipped, and Greg elbowed her with a laugh "you've gone soft Hols really, just a carebear in disguise" as he breathed on the glass and drew a little heart with his finger, pointing at the couple walking up the drive. Simultaneous two fingered salutes were the response, and even Mycroft had to laugh at that.  
Once the snow speckled couple had 'finally deigned to grace us with your presence' Orabelle lead them all upstairs, chattering on as they went. "Let's see… tomorrow lunch will be served at two thirty, I invited dear Martha to join us but she's visiting her sister for the holidays so it will just be the six of us. I am assuming that you all brought presents?" she asked with a sly glance at the suitcases laying at the doors to their respective rooms. "We can do presents afterwards, and then in the evening les Holmes français ont arrivé which is perfect because I for one have been waiting an awfully long time to hear -" Greg attempted - in vain - to stifle a yawn and like the ordinary, doting mother she was Orabelle chivvied them all to bed. Within the pine scented confines of their room John splayed himself starfish style across the majority of the bed, Sherlock wouldn't be sleeping anyway. Sherlock lay with his violin clutched in his hands plucking the strings in a melancholy tone. "John?" he whispered, checking if his fiance was awake. "Yeah?" John called back to him, concern evident in his voice. Sherlock sounded unsure, and that just didn't happen. "I've been… researching." Sherlock paused dramatically and John waited for the second half of that sentence to arrive before he let his imagination run away with him. "Surrogates. I've been researching surrogates for us and I have realised that was probably not the best thing to do because most couples do this together and what not, and we're not yet married but… It's Christmas." and John, his wonderful, clever John, understood almost immediately. It was Christmas, and while they were surrounded by family and friends, there was a sense that the place was empty. He didn't want to spend another Christmas alone. "That's 'kay Sh'rlock, s'long as we make the final decision together I don't mind you doing your thing. We'll… start the whole process in motion when we get home?" Sherlock was upon him before he had the chance to register movement in the dark room.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE PARAGRAPHS JUST NEVER APPEAR DAMMIT! You can get a more or less properly paragraphs version of this under the same title on Fanfiction.net

Christmas Day  
"Merry Christmas Sherlock" John yawned happily into the silken plane of Sherlock's chest. "Merry Christmas John" Sherlock replied, stretching languorously. Looking around him, John had to admit that their room was beautiful. Situated at the back of the house, A large circular window facing east streamed hazy winter light across their skin. Framed by a cushioned window seat, the majority of the wall was consumed by the glass. "It was always the room I would choose when we ventured down here too." Sherlock said quietly, remembering a time not all that long ago when he'd hidden himself away in the small cupboard behind the bed to avoid his father, and how Mycroft, on the cusp of leaving him for boarding school, had found him and stayed, playing deductions with him until he'd gotten too bored to stay curled up together any longer. "It seems like the type of place you'd like" John agreed as he clambered out of bed and donned his dressing gown with a grin. "The other great thing about this room is the rather large shower just waiting for us to use it" Sherlock chuckled and hopped up, following his fiancé with a wide smile.  
"Merry Christmas Mycroft" Lestrade beamed up at his lover who was still panting from the very enthusiastic wake up he'd received. "And many happy returns my dearest Gregory." Mycroft eventually managed to get his breath back. His phone beeped quietly front the bedside locker and he frowned as he picked it up, but that quickly melted into a smile when he read the text he'd received. "Meretricious, brother mine -SH" Quickly he typed a response. He didn't need to think too hard to picture the small smile on his brother's face, he'd caused it more often these days than he could remember doing since he'd boarded at Eton. "And a happy new year Brother dearest -MH" Perhaps they might make it through this holiday after all.  
Holly giggled behind her hand at the conspiratorial glance Orabelle afforded her across the breakfast table. The two of them had been up for quite a while, after it became increasingly apparent that they couldn't drown out some noises very effectively at all. Four debauched men trundled into the dining room in various states of dress, Sherlock wrapped snugly in a thin duvet, John donning a festive fair isle jumper and pyjama bottoms, Lestrade shirtless with plaid bottoms and Mycroft in only a misbuttoned shirt and trousers. Each sat down and grabbed at toast or cereal, in Greg's case coffee and a banana, and soon the only sound was the clink of knives and cups hitting saucers. Orabelle smirked, looking at the grandfather clock across the room. "You lot took your time" she remarked, and Mycroft's eyes might as well have come out of his head when he saw the time. "Twelve?! This... this is the latest I have gotten out of bed in my life!" he said, utterly scandalized. "Actually My, there was that one weekend where-" Mycroft held up a threatening hand "If you wish there to ever be a repeat performance you had better think verycarefully about finishing that statement Gregory." A tense silence fell, and it was John who broke first, sputtering until his laughter exploded forth, and then the rest of the table had to join in. "S-sorry" he gasped between chuckles "just, Your face Greg I can't! I have seen puppies who haven't pulled that look off!" Greg gave a half smile and responded amiably "If you'd been there John, you'd want it to happen again too." With that a low hum of conversation resumed, and the staff were already setting up for lunch by the time everyone had left the table.  
John rubbed his eyes and yawned in front of the window as he dressed, staring at the impressive ice structures that had apparently been erected while they were sleeping. Sherlock's long arms snaked around him from behind and he grinned up at him, swaying on the spot. "I didn't deduce what you got me" he murmured into soft blonde hair. He really hadn't. After the Molly fiasco when they had first become flatmates...well he had decided perhaps gifts weren't an area he should look into. Not that it stopped him being curious, anytime John got him anything the urge to know what it was overwhelmed him. A few times he'd broken down and deduced it but he always felt guilty because John could tell when he wasn't surprised and he didn't want to hurt his feelings so. No gift deducing. "I know, and I'm very proud." John chirped before unfurling himself from the embrace. "Get dressed you muppet or we'll be last in for dinner." Sherlock groaned. "I ate breakfast as a gift to you but I am not becoming a bottomless cavern for food like my brother. I'm not hungry." "Neither am I, let's have dinner." John said softly, remembering Irene again and her slew of texts that went unanswered with a sort of fondness that only hindsight allows. "You're lucky I'm so fond of you." Sherlock grumbled as he tucked his shirt, a dark burgundy, into his trousers and stepped towards the door with an affectionate eye roll. John finished tying his shoes and pecked Sherlock's cheek as he passed, picking up the bag containing their gifts as he did so.  
Lunch, in all it's extravagance went off without a hitch. To the general shock of the party, Holly pocketed her phone for the duration of the meal. "The study I think, for presents." Orabelle smiled languidly and everyone rose and made their way through the house following her lead. The study was cozily decorated with holly and mistletoe, and a reserved looking tree twinkled with lights in the corner. Greg sat first in the leather armchair next to the fire and patted his legs at Mycroft who blushed so minutely no one outside this room would ever have noticed. Trying to maintain his staunch exterior he strolled, hands in pockets, to Greg who was grinning widely and settled across his lap, legs dangling over one arm. "Cheeky" he whispered into Greg's ear as everyone else found a spot: John sitting on the couch with Sherlock sprawled across the floor between his knees, and Mummy and Holly opposite himself and Gregory on another couch. Each had a stack of presents, and the childlike glee on Orabelle's face was as unmistakable as it was contagious. "The simplest way to do this would be to put each person's gifts in front of them so if you would be so kind Holly as to do mine at the same time as yours, I'm suddenly feeling quite lethargic." There was movement then as Holly quickly made the rounds with John doing the same and both picking up gifts from Greg and Mycroft to shuttle back to the awaiting parties. John was honestly quite touched by the whole thing, he barely knew Holly and yet they had exchanged gifts like they were already family. "Shall we?" Orabelle asked with a cheeky grin and tore into the wrapping paper on her first gift.  
Sherlock rolled his eyes and did the same, revelling internally at the glorious sound of paper being torn apart. Lestrade's gift was the first that came to hand, a large box that was quite weighty and had been wrapped in newspaper as well as wrapping paper, both of which were covered in pictures of the deerstalker. John giggled from behind him as he opened it. A box full of cold cases was nothing to be laughed at and he caught Lestrade's eye to give a nod of thanks before moving onto the next one. Quite obviously from Lucia, a sleekly wrapped black box containing a beautifully designed phone that had obviously been enhanced, and a small post-it informing him that Mycroft hadn't been aware of it's existence and had therefore not put his blasted monitoring systems in was just an added bonus.  
Next he watched as Mycroft opened his gift and chuckled. It had taken Sherlock a while to decide what to get for his brother. They'd been enemies for so long that they hadn't actually exchanged gifts that weren't of the nicotine variety in over two and a half decades, and now that Sherlock had decided to forgive him for betraying most of his secrets to Moriarty, a sentimental gift seemed the perfect way to communicate the message. Mycroft was honestly close to tears as he stared down at the gift lying in his lap. Firstly, a bottle of Glenfiddich whiskey with a vintage that made Greg's eyes pop but Mycroft's heart soften, a long cherished memory of himself and Sherlock drinking themselves into a stupor beneath Father's desk just weeks before he'd told Sherlock he'd be gone away for the next year to places unknown and giggling all the while, neither one knowing just how expensive the bottle had been rising to the surface as he stared down at the exact same one. Secondly, a painstakingly rendered replica of a photo he had destroyed in a rage in his youth of himself and Sherlock, He around ten and Sherlock just three, sitting together with their little legs dangling, faces bright with smiles on an ornate throne all drawn and coloured until it looked like they could step right into it. Lastly, a pirates hat and a small note that read " I already have a first mate, but should you wish it, there is always room on our ship for you. We could use a cabin boy, and perhaps an uncle in the future. SH." It was wonderful and awful at the same time, because what had he done to deserve forgiveness for almost getting his brother killed by a madman? And yet he was forgiven, had been forgiven for all his failings, and welcomed back into Sherlock's life unconditionally. Not only his life, but the lives of any nieces or nephews that came from his union with John. He hadn't even thought that they were considering it, but clearly they were and wanted him to be there. It had been far too long since they had truly been brothers. "Thank you Sherlock." he mouthed at his brother who smiled kindly at him before returning to his own pile.  
John leaned down and kissed Sherlock sweetly as he read the engraving on the platinum cufflinks he'd gotten him, it was the date they had met, and, at least for John, the day he'd fallen head over heels for the man who'd given him everything. "I'm glad you like them" Sherlock said, blinking owlishly up at John and looking so thoroughly kissed that John had to kiss him again. As per the agreement they'd made when they'd first become mates, John had gotten Greg to tickets to see a football match, and Greg had done the same for him, meaning they both got to go to two seeing as their Holmes' were totally uninterested. From Mummy, much to his delight, John had received an obviously handknitted jumper that matched the aubrigine shirt she had chosen for Sherlock. He watched nervously as Sherlock reached for the gift he had bought for him.  
Holly had received a plane ticket with the destination empty from Mycroft, A gorgeous red sundress from Greg, a black phone case that said Don't talk to me on the back from John, a book on how to effectively kill a man with nothing but what you had in your pockets from Orabelle, and, surprisingly, a list of all the things Molly Hooper liked from Sherlock. She had opened those without ceremony and now sat back to watch as the others got to the gifts their partners had gotten for them. John had reached his first, his face a picture of domestic bliss as he read whatever was inscribed on a set of cufflinks. Next was Greg, whispering something she definitely didn't want to hear into Mycroft's ear as he pulled out a pocketwatch that's cover was scratched full of interconnecting circles and lines, then Mycroft's eyes warming as he opened a gold locket that looked as if Greg had designed it himself and found a photo of himself wrapped in Greg's arms, both of them smiling in their sleep against the backdrop of crisp white sheets. She had sent Greg that photo just for this, having been planning on keeping it for the wedding that would inevitably occur eventually. She turned to watch Sherlock, as did everyone else, open John's gift to him.  
Sherlock hadn't deliberately left John's gift for last at all, it had just been at the bottom of his pile and so by the time he had gotten around to opening it everyone had finished their own gift unwrapping and was focussed on his. The paper, a dark green, had tormented him from the day it had appeared in 221b. He pulled it apart to reveal a book, supple ebony leather and nothing else met him. "Open it." John murmured hoarsely from behind him. Suddenly tense, Sherlock peeled back the cover to a red marbled front page, the title "For Sherlock Holmes" recently printed in perfect black calligraphy. He turned the page and John's handwriting rose to meet him, a full account of John's every thought, clearly written on the day they first met lay in his hands. He flipped a few pages on and a quick yet startlingly accurate sketch of his face stared up at him. Another few pages and words like brilliant, wonderful, unbelievable and even beautiful caught his eye, and this was barely a few months into their partnership if the date at the top was to be believed. Every sixth page was a drawing, him at the table, bent over the microscope, whirling about a crime scene, pulling on his coat, leaning breathless and laughing against the wall in the hallway, a series of close up shots of his face, eyes closed with hands beneath his chin, Electrified with excitement during a case, a small smile quirking his lips and his personal favourite, his face open and cheeks rosy, mouth soft and wanting for John's. A fantasy, if the date was to be believed, because this, this was drawn almost a year and a half ago now. "John I..." Sherlock's voice cracked, and if it were even possible his face revealed a part of his soul, previously unseen by the majority of the room. How could anyone doubt the love John had for him seeing this? "I... Thank you. It's... that is... good" he finished rather lamely, but how could anyone possibly express what they felt looking into the heart of another and seeing pure adoration in every line of it? John's mind, his every thought, written just for him.  
Having caught only glimpses as Sherlock flicked through, even Mycroft couldn't say precisely what lay within the confines of those pages, but the look in his brother's eyes was enough to tell their story a thousand times over. Sherlock nuzzled his face into John's leg like an affection starved feline, and the slow stroke through Sherlock's curls that John had started kept all eyes on the pair. It was, to Greg at least, a show of intimacy that they were clearly intruding on. He coughed. "Tea anyone?"  
Late into the evening the family were sprawled in the study, reading (The Holmes' and Holly) and napping (Greg and John) when the seemingly thunderous noise of the door knocker split the silence, jolting all from their restful states. Orabelle perked up immediately but if anything Sherlock shuffled further into the corner he had chosen. "It'll be fine" John soothed, "I'll be here." It was a comforting thought to be sure, but clearly John didn't understand the Holmes family very well (with one very obvious exception) because the influx of snotty aristocratic types that were waiting outside the door for Sebastian to open it was immense and frankly quite horrid to be around with two notable group exceptions - the majority of the children, and Sherrinford and Aurora. He hadn't missed this at all. A horrendously nasal voice wafted in from the hallway "and then he said that he'd sold his stocks months ago for a fraction of what mine went for but of course they did because I have quite a gift for-" Ah. So Uncle Pierre was still alive then. "Wonderful" Sherlock ground out through gritted teeth. John's hand reached for his with a reassuring pat and then swiftly withdrew. The grateful smile he got in return for that was fleeting as the mask Sherlock had worn during the early days of their friendship shuttered across his face again.  
The room had filled rapidly and more bodies kept flooding in, jostling for space they couldn't get. Eventually, much to John's relief, sliding doors into the next room were opened and suddenly, mercifully, he could breathe again. He spun around, looking for Sherlock's signature curls and found at least four other heads sprouted the same ones in various shades before he clocked his set, standing beneath a nearly tangible cloud and looking for the life of him like some sort of prince of darkness. A semicircle of empty space was left around him, and behind manicured hands and jeweled fingers tongues wagged about the prodigal son home again and still alone. "Quite embarrassing actually, although I assume he spun through take for attention from his poor mother. How she managed to hold her  
head up in society all these years would be a mystery if it weren't for Mycroft's standing." the old crone cooed "Just like his father in that way, such focus, such drive."  
John pushed through the crowd, garnering horrified looks as they watched who they believed to be the help traipse in the midst of the Holmes family. The audacity! Eventually he reached the clear space, and by extension Sherlock, who's whole body relaxed just a bit as he approached. "There you are love, I was wondering where you'd gone" John said with his signature smile and twined his fingers with Sherlock's. "I was just getting tea, would you like to join me?" Sherlock's lip twitched at the side and John counted even that small movement as a massive victory. "You could just call for tea you know John, it's expected behaviour." Sherlock explained as the walked hand in hand through the path that had formed for them in the middle of the gaping mass. John laughed, a raw infectious sound that Sherlock couldn't help but chuckle after. "If a man can't make his own tea he's not fit to call himself an Englishman" he said seriously, locking eyes with Sherlock and setting them both off again. They completely ignored the rapid whispering that filled the room as they closed the door behind them.  
Greg really should have been prepared a bit better for the status that most of the people in this room would have, given that he slept with the British government whenever their schedules allowed, but everywhere were CEO's of international corporations and High ranking politicians and more than likely the ones he didn't recognise performed jobs like Mycroft's. For a long while he just stood in the corner and blinked because Mycroft had leapt out of his arms as soon as they had heard the first footsteps in the foyer and he hadn't paid Greg any attention since.  
Holly appeared next to him, looking busier than ever and typing furiously on her blackberry. "I thought you didn't have to work?" Greg asked with a slight frown. At the rate she was going this girl would work herself to an early grave. She snorted and looked up from her phone for just a second before turning back to it. "It's not work per se, Sherlock occasionally used to send me any relevant information about the family in the past answer it seems that he's doing it again so I have to catalogue it all and sort it into relevance to the situation at hand at any given time so that if any of the family could be useful or similarly if they would be a hindrance to future plans we will just have to click a button to find out." Greg recoiled "Ouch. Sounds like work to me." Holly grinned and pocketed the device with a flourish. "Not too much if you can set up a program to do it all for you."  
Greg scanned the room and furrowed his brow at what he saw. "What?" Holly asked, trying to see what he was watching. "Those kids look... awfully-" Holly chimed in "Snotty? Irritating? Posh?" Greg rolled his eyes. "I was going to say lonely and bored." The gang of children, at least fifteen of them sat apart from the group, saying next to nothing and reading material that ranged from introductory German and what looked like Russian for the youngest of the group who looked about five to advanced physics for the eldest, and he couldn't have been over fifteen. "Jesus were they ever kids at all? How can they just push them to the side with a lesson in their hand like, it's Christmas for Christsake!"  
Greg looked scandalized and genuinely upset and in that moment Holly was so happy that Mycroft had found someone who'd been raised without the Holmes values to protect any of their future offspring from this fate.  
"It's just how it is I suppose. They were all raised to be big players in the world, most of them since before they were even born had their whole would mapped out for them and the constant learning is the path they take to get to their ultimate goal. I'd say they are bored and half of them are probably just as lonely as Sherlock was. Mycroft got the brain-mouth filter, that gave him a chance at least to make friends, Sherlock didn't and he couldn't learn it so in the beginning he really just didn't understand why everyone he ever met hated him... It makes for a lonely life if you can't learn to make your way in this family. Their parents are all constantly busy and though they have siblings in most cases it almost makes it worse because then it's a competition to be the best and get some little bone thrown to you from your parents. It's bad, but it's just the way it works for most of them. When Sherrinford and Aurora get here though you'll see the eh, grey sheep of the family. Sherlock can't be beaten for that black sheep crown. Greg?" He'd already begun to move across the room before she'd even finished speaking. Seeing as all the Holmes' were already ignoring him, he might as well give them a reason. Greg crouched down next to the two five year olds, twin boys with big brown eyes and chestnut hair and began to speak.  
"What is he doing?" Mycroft popped up next to Holly in the silent way he always did. "I believehe's speaking good conversational French sir. That sounded quite like he was asking how they got so cute. After all, no one else will talk to him." Holly replied with a raised brow, and Mycroft couldn't help the low sigh that escaped him. "It's not quite so simple here. I would of course but this is not the appropriate setting. You know precisely the consequences he would face if people realised we were a couple. I will not have either of us be ridiculed for our choices Holly. Not all in this room would be so accepting of my choice of partner, as you well know. It's a different generation entirely and Gregory should not have to deal with prejudice from them." It was a depressing thought, but outing himself to the family would be a mistake. He had heard what they said about Sherlock, and he was expected to 'rebel'. Mycroft was not afforded the same luxury and Gregory would be better off if no one knew until the end of the trip. That way they didn't have to deal with the fallout. Holly frowned seriously at him. "You need to have explained this to him already Mycroft. You know what he's like." Mycroft smiled to himself. Yes, he knew what Gregory was like. Openly and constantly affectionate, always trying to make him laugh or smile, loyal, clever, a fan of making romantic gestures, he was wonderful, and surprisingly sensitive to any sort of rejection. They had both learned that the hard way just recently. But here... here that wouldn't be acceptable. "I'll speak to him later tonight." Holly rolled her eyes. "Really? So you can't be seen talking but he can go and sleep in the same bed as you? Not exactly a difficult connection to make Mycroft." He blinked slowly and turned away. "I'll deal with it." he murmured more to himself than her and strode back into the crowd, immersing himself in conversation with cousin Quentin who had just arrived.  
Tea made and half drunk, Sherlock lead John back through the house at a leisurely pace, and nearly crashed into woman as they entered the front hall. "Sherly!" The short woman with bright green eyes exclaimed and threw herself at Sherlock's torso and wrapped him in a hug. "Aurora you and I both know he hates that name. Hello again Sherlock." Sherlock had frozen and his arms flailed as he attempted to decide how to react to the woman who was still clutching him. John desperately tried to hold back his laughter at the sight, he looked like an awkward gangly giraffe. The man who's voice had called to them stepped inside with a little girl cradled in one arm, a suitcase in the other and the beautiful woman John could only assume was his wife at his side. "Ford." Sherlock nodded in acknowledgment, and Sherrinford smiled. "Come on Rora, let him go." With a high pitched laugh she released him and flounced back to the door. "Victor, girls come on! Last one here has to sleep next to Cousin Henri!" Sherlock rolled his eyes and smirked as three pairs of feet pounded the drive, even through the snow just to avoid Henri. In fairness the boy was quite a pain, just like Mycroft a few years back but at least he'd realised just how annoying he was after Sherlock had nagged him for a few years. Henri was fifteen now and just totally unwilling to change regardless ofwhat anyone said. Ok so he liked him a little bit, but only because he admired anyone who would ignore those parents.  
"John, Meet cousin Ford, his wife Violet, and their daughter Beth, and that's Ford's sister Aurora, her husband Victor and their daughters Artemis and Athena. Everyone, this is John, my fiancé." All the girls squealed and clapped while John blushed and shook hands with them all. "It's nice to meet you. I've heard next to nothing about any of you." John said honestly and they laughed. "That sounds about right for him. We know about the same amount about you so I think we'll have some fun on this holiday for once! We have something to do!" Aurora took her girls and Victor's hands and sighed. "So. Where's the funeral party then?"  
Orabelle thanked the powers that be when she heard happy sounds coming from the hall that signalled her favourite niece and nephew had arrived. With a cordial nod she strode to the door, excusing Mycroft as she passed and grabbing Greg on the way. Mycroft sighed. "Really Mummy, they just arrived. Must we?" she gave him a look that allowed no argument and Greg chatted to the twins he'd stolen from the study, just following along. "Darlings! Come along, I have a request to make of you." Orabelle swept passed a confused John and winked at him as she moved further into the house. "Is she really going to...?" Rora asked and Sherlock groaned. "Of course she is. Ugh!" Still, the Holmes gang formed a trio at the front of the group and lead the way, leaving John to speak with the spouses.  
"It's always like this, welcome to the club John." Victor smiled and chivvied his daughters forwards. "So what do you guys do then?" John asked as they wound their way through the halls at a leisurely pace. "I'm a fashion designer back in Paris and Victor here is a pharmacist." Violet chimed and John realised he shouldn't be surprised. All Holmes' were high achievers regardless of if they gained the name by blood or marriage. Victor flushed. "I'd ask you about yourself but... eh... don't tell anyone but I read your blog. The Aluminum crutch? Amazing. I'm sure he keeps you on your toes." John beamed and  
and then shrugged, but his reply was cut off by a gasp as they rounded the corner to enter a massive room filled with instruments of every sort and Sherlock muttering about invading his space as he lifted a familiar violin from one of many chairs. "Sit down, sit down! I waited long enough, your violinist is back, now I demand a performance!" John blinked slowly and walked over to Greg and plopped down beside him. He gave him a glance and looked away only to do a double take at the little suited boys in his lap. "When did you get twins?!" Greg giggled and ruffled their hair "About twenty minutes ago!" He shook his head and resigned himself to the insanity that his life had become. Orabelle sat down and the others followed suit, with the girls making as if they were conducting and pushing their cousins to various instruments. Mycroft sat down at the piano, Sherlock with his violin, Ford at a Cello and Aurora a bass. "Is there anything this family doesn't do?" John asked, awestruck. "Affection?" Sherlock called as he put resin on his bow. "Fun?" Ford followed with a smirk. "Failure." Mycroft said stiffly from the piano stool and Aurora blew a raspberry at his back with an affectionate yell of "Spoilsport!" Soon though they were finished tuning the instruments before them and Mycroft turned and gave the others a nod and began to play a few notes of a soft tune. In perfect time the strings joined in with fast notes and Mycroft played over them with a passion John hadn't known him capable  
of. "I didn't know he could play" John whispered to Greg. "Neither did I" Greg said, saddened by this clearly integral part of Mycroft that he wasn't privy to. "It's beautiful, no?" Orabelle murmured to John who nodded enthusiastically. "This is one of the first pieces they played together. God it has been far too long since I enjoyed this particular pleasure. Our viola player, Cousin Frederique, should be here, playing along but once Siger discovered his orientation... safe to say he was never invited back by any member of the family. He died many years ago, long before Siger, but I always felt in my heart that he'd send our boys the same way, out into exile and then to an early grave. Siger always pushed them too hard, pushed them away. I suppose I did too... silence to protect yourself is still silence...funny how hindsight changes ones view of oneself." They finished with a flourish and applause echoed throughout the room. Sherlock visibly preened under the praise.  
"It's getting late. Perhaps we should retire. I trust you all know where you'll be staying in the house? It hasn't changed since last year." Murmurs of assent were scattered, and satisfied that they would find their way Orabelle opened the door and let them free. "Don't worry, I'll make your excuses with the rest of the family. Goodnight all." Greg handed the boys over to Orabelle after receiving two enthusiastic kisses on the cheek and sidled over to Mycroft who ignored him, again. He shook his head and threw his hands in the air. "Right. Goodnight all, it was lovely to meet you and I'll see you in the morning." He left the room alone and Ford tilted his head to the side with a frown. "Mycroft, why are you ignoring your boyfriend? Gregory is a very kind man, I don't see what you're trying to achieve." Mycroft's eyebrows flew to his hairline and he looked around the room to find everyone, even the girls giving him confused looks. "He's trying to maintain his golden reputation with the relatives. It wouldn't do for the British government to be gay now would it?" Sherlock scoffed. "Oh. Well. We can be trusted you know Mycroft. In front of us there doesn't need to be any of that messing." Aurora said and there was a chorus of yes's. "Mr. Greg is really nice, and you made him sad." Athena frowned. "You should probably apologise." Artemis finished with crossed arms. Mycroft looked into the supportive faces around him and wondered why the rest of the family couldn't be as accepting as these were. Maybe, when the oldest generation died out, they could breathe a little, until then however he'd stick to the group in front of him now. "I... excuse me." he all but ran out.  
Greg was pacing their bedroom anxiously. They'd only just found their feet again and here he was, ignored again! The door creaked open and Mycroft walked in looking almost sheepish. Too right. "Damn it all Mycroft! What's going on?! First you're all over me, then you can't seem to be far enough away! I'm getting whiplash here, You know I love you but this game you're playing is messing me right up." He ran a hand through salt and pepper hair and sighed. "Just... explain. Please." Mycroft sat down on the couch and rubbed at his temples. "I love you too Gregory, obviously. It's nothing to do with you at all, it's my relatives. They would not accept our relationship, in fact they would first ridicule and then shun us both. I wished to save you from their scorn. I apologise for my lack of communication once again." He looked up at a strange sound to find Greg holding his hand over his mouth to stifle giggles. "Sorry My but, we just can't seem to do the whole communication thing can we? it's kinda funny don't you think? I would have totally understood if you just told me, you know? We should really work on that. Now" Greg smiled at an astounded Mycroft "If I can't lavish my affection on you out there I'll just have to save it all for in here. Let me help you with those clothes." Mycroft protested lamely as Greg unbuttoned his shirt slowly. "Gregory we will be heard!" Button. "Well" button. "You'll" button. "Just" button. "Have" button "To be" button. "Quiet." And he was, although the teeth marks on his hand and the bite mark on Greg's shoulder would require some covering up in the morning.  
New Years Eve  
The next five days passed with little incident, although John had to be calmed many times to avoid him murdering a gossiping relative in his defense of Sherlock (a fact that Sherlock found endlessly lovely), and Greg would have to abort many affectionate gestures (the realisation of just how many made Mycroft blush at how sappy they were), the final night of the relatives stay had arrived, as had about five hundred other people dressed in glamorous ball gowns and tuxes.  
John adjusted the belt on his dress uniform and sighed. "Sleeping tablets. I was gone for all of a minute and you managed to sneak up to my old room and get my dress uniform into the bottom of our suitcase while I pissed? Why?" Sherlock popped his perfectly styled head out of the bathroom while still eyeing himself in the mirror. "Well I thought you'd look rather dashing in it and-" John just raised an eyebrow. "Fine, fine! People here will show you the respect you deserve this way alright? It seems to me that far too many of my relatives have yet to realise that you actually kill people and that they should watch their tongues." Scowling he slipped back inside and closed his jacket before he lifted his head to look at John in his regalia. "John. If we didn't have to be downstairs right now... It's not decent how you look in that uniform." John blushed a bit and stood to attention before putting his cap and medals on. "I can't say I'm not thinking the same about you in that suit, those tails really do just top it all off. Are we ready to head?" he asked lightly, knowing that this would be a bit of a fuck you moment for Sherlock to relish as he introduced everyone who'd mocked and teased him all those years to the fiancé and best friend they had assured him he'd never have. Sherlock grinned and held out his hand for John who took it without hesitation.  
The ballroom was massive, it took up almost an entire block of the house on it's own but now John completely understood why. Five hundred people is an awful lot to seat and have a dancefloor to accommodate them at once, plus the bar and orchestra, the size was rather necessary. "Jesus" John let out a low whistle as he surveyed the women were dripping with jewels and sparkling gowns that twinkled in the light, and the men wore tailored tuxedos that would put James Bond to shame, even the children were dazzling in their style and suddenly John was glad of his uniform because nothing he owned would ever fit into this crowd. The room had several doors leading out to heated terraces and all were open to let air circulate.  
He recognized faces of politicians and actors and a few models here and there but still none compared to Sherlock in that heavenly charcoal number he had on. John caught sight of a couple that were very familiar indeed. He grabbed Sherlock's arm and looked up at him wide eyed. "Sherlock is that Wills and fucking Kate?!" Sherlock just smirked and John sputtered away. "What are they doing here?!" Sherlock laughed and waved it off "Extended family. It's all a bit messy." He laughed again as John tried to wrap his head around the fact that Sherlock was related to the queen and still didn't care who the primeminister is.  
"Sherlock Holmes?" A shocked voice called to him from the left and he turned to find a circle had already formed on that side, most of those present being colleagues of his mother or various relations that he'd met many times before. Three cheaters, two gold diggers, a secret foot fetish and an acrobat in training. Wonderful.  
"Cordelia." Cordelia laughed, a high pitched nasal sound that grated on your ears and made Sherlock want very much to harpoon her. "And who's the dishy date then?" she whirled to look John up and down. "How much are you paying him because I would double it for a night with the toy soldier here." She simpered, batting her oversized lashes and sticking out her chest. John's visible recoil and growing fury were the only reason Sherlock had yet to say anything to that. Maybe he was looking around the room, trying to see who else thought that he'd ever stoop to hiring an escort. A number that shouldn't have surprised him, did.  
"Excuse me." John thundered in that quiet manner of his that stunned most every one of those torpid women to silence. "I, to begin with, am not a piece of meat to be paid for. I'm not an escort or whatever it is that you're insinuating I am." He took a deep breath in and held out his hand for Cordelia to shake, which she warily did. "The name is Captain John Watson of the fifth Northumberland fusiliers and you would do well to remember it. I'm Sherlock's fiancé. Would you like to dance love?" John asked with a smile and Sherlock took his arm and steered them both away. "Have I told you that I love you?" Sherlock beamed down at him, noting the terrified squeaks from the ladies at their back as one mentioned the fact that John could probably kill them all with his bare hands."You might have mentioned it a few times now yeah."  
Holly leaned out over the railings with a chuckle as the couple passed her by, leaving a trail of gossips to spread the word that John was not an escort and that they were "Engaged? No way! How?" She swirled her drink, some sort of hundred year old scotch that Mycroft had handed her as soon as she'd walked in with a sly wink and a quiet affirmation that "You look irresistible in that dress." She hoped so. The dress was made almost entirely out of sheer lace, with the long sleeves and deep v-neck covered in white flowers that lead into black ones at the waist that faded out at the middle of her thigh to leave her legs on display until the ankle where the black flowers continued to the floor. Surprisingly enough she was warm even out in the snow. Close enough for her to touch was an ice fawn, clearly in pursuit of a beautiful nymph that lay for them both just out of reach. How apt. "Oh! Sorry, I didn't know anyone was out here." Holly turned around to see Molly Hooper had stumbled out to her terrace. She blinked slowly and looked Molly up and down. She looked amazing in a forest green chiffon strapless gown with her hair plaited to the side. The only issue would be the look of anxiety on her face that was probably because she was getting stared at "It's no big deal. Stay if you want to." Smooth moves there Hols, nice job. But, to her utter surprise Molly was smiling and moving to stand next to her.  
"I'm Molly, Molly Hooper, I'm friends with Sherlock and John." Holly nodded and sipped her drink, staring out at the sky. "You're the woman with all the names aren't you?" She chuckled and flushed an adorable shade of red. "Sorry that sounded like I'm a stalker I just hear a lot about you well actually not a lot, very little, but always with different names and I'm not even sure if it's you but you look like a lot of names suit you, not that whatever your real name is isn't good enough or anything oh God I should stop talking shouldn't I?" Holly smiled brightly at her ramblings, she was even sweeter in person than on those surveillance tapes. "It's Holly tonight. My name that is, but 'The woman with all the names' works too, nice and mysterious." Molly grinned, a lopsided smile that made Holly's own flutter in her chest. "So Molly, what do you do?"  
Greg squeezed past dancing couples with two drinks in his hand and smirked at the scene that lay outside the door he passed, Holly sitting on the couch outside staring indulgently at Molly who was gesturing wildly, clearly telling some sort of story. "They look pretty cute together. Explain to me again how you knew she'd go out there?" Greg asked as he handed the second drink over to Mycroft. "I might have given her a little nudge out the door..." he said contemplatively and Greg laughed "Not literally though, right?" he said jokingly. Mycroft just looked at him as if he had something on his face. "You're actually quite funny Mycroft Holmes. Especially when you don't know why." He'd actually had to wipe tears of mirth from his eyes.  
Greg watched as the other couples danced away. He and Mycroft hadn't danced together at all, but both of them had been in constant demand. He'd had a great conversation with Wills and Kate at the bar about England's world cup prospects, and had even been asked on a few dates that he had to decline for obvious reasons. It had been a great party, a lovely evening truly, but he was finished messing about now, really he was. This drink was the first interaction he'd had with Mycroft all night and he was not letting that be how their night culminated, a quick drink and a few words at the side of the dancefloor. They'd had years of that already, enough to last a lifetime. Flicking his eyes to the clock Greg smiled. Ten to midnight. "Dance with me." "What?" Mycroft spluttered. "Mycroft Holmes will you dance with me?" Mycroft frowned and nibbled on his lip. "Gregory you know why that's not a good idea." "I do." Greg nodded, putting his hand on Mycroft's waist and easing the glass from his hands, setting it down on a table. "I just can't quite bring myself to care. If Sherlock and John over there" he jerked his head in the direction of the couple who were laughing as John attempted a particularly outlandish move that landed him against Sherlock's chest "can dance together like utter fools all night, I think we can have one dance." Regardless he was leading Mycroft bodily into the fray, stopping when they reached a semi crowded area and dropping to an exaggerated bow before tucking his hands around Mycroft's waist. He wouldn't have missed the shy smile that bloomed across Mycroft's face for anything in the world.  
John laughed breathlessly into Sherlock's shoulder as they swayed much more softly now on the floor. "I knew you'd be able to dance but where did all that come from?!" Sherlock twirled them both around and cradled John to him just a bit more, yet another guest taking a leisurely stare at his arse in those trousers. "I confess that I always had a certain passion for dance, I only gave it up because it became both too time consuming and towards the end a bit... emotionally charged for me. Still, it appears my love of it has gone unchanged." John inhaled Sherlock's shirt and smiled into his chest. "You're bloody good at it, thank God we won't have to go to ruddy dance lessons for the wedding anyway."  
The music changed, fading from the slow waltz into something much more up beat, a tango of sorts, and in moments the lazy affection turned to heat with just a look. With feline grace, Sherlock twisted their bodies together, until he and John's bodies were slinking against each other with every move. Soon the room had dwindled to just them, at least that was how it seemed.  
"Ten, nine, eight"  
The chant began. John suddenly took the lead, spinning Sherlock out.  
"Seven, Six, Five"  
Holly looked across at Molly standing beside her once again against the balcony. This could be the perfect opportunity, but if she's wrong...  
"Four, Three, Two"  
Greg was sprinting, dragging Mycroft by the arm behind  
him because they were kissing at midnight if he had to kill someone. (Well maybe not that far but, the sentiment was there.)  
"One, HAPPY NEWYEAR!"  
John brought Sherlock back to him and dipped them both low, "Really John how clichéd are we being-" but he never did finish that sentence because John's lips were taking every word.  
"Thank God, empty!" Greg cheered before shoving Mycroft against the wall of the corridor and claiming him, hopefully for many years to come.  
In the end, it was Molly who leaned in and, with a tentative brush of lips against her cheek, asked Holly if she got much free time, and if she'd like to get coffee some time, the answer to which was a definite yes, and a quick peck of her own, because regardless of whether she was superstitious or not (she wasn't, at least she hadn't been until this morning when Mycroft and Greg had insisted that this was valid and if they were taking the piss she'd murder them. Maybe not. After all a kiss is a kiss...) she just wanted to be sure that all the luck in the world would be on their side to help them make it to next year together.


	30. Chapter 30

Mary Morstan told Sherlock and John she was pregnant on the 28th of February over Skype. She and John had wept, while Sherlock, ever poised, had let a few graceful tears trickle down his face and clutched John to him with every ounce of strength he possessed. He'd been sceptical when they'd first went to meet Mary, understandably so, because seriously it's a pretty massive step from jewels to pharmacy last time he checked but the opportunity was one they didn't want to miss. John's easy banter with her and Sherlock's well... being the least offensive version of himself for the most part had made the meeting feel smooth and easy, like (Sherlock imagined) they were all three old friends. Her terms had been very reasonable: She needed money for university, no more no less, She didn't need visitation because this wasn't her baby at all (but if they wanted to keep in touch she was happy to), and finally they were banned from using any part of her name. When the meeting was over, contract signed, and a date arranged Sherlock asked about the jewellery thing. She'd smiled and beckoned him closer with a giggle. "I really needed a job and they hired me. Plus the discount is pretty phenomenal." He'd chuckled to himself all day after that, and she'd told John, much to his chagrin, that he was a "keeper".

Mary was a regular face in 221b now, although sworn to utmost secrecy about the true nature of her companionship with the residents of 221b. "We don't know anything for definite yet, best not get their hopes up." John had said over tea on her first visit and Mary had agreed. Quick and witty, her place in their partnership formed quickly over the eight weeks before her first ultrasound, an event that fell spectacularly close to The Wedding ("Why do you always use capitals when you write about it John, it's not really supposed to have capitalization in that context-" "With your mother and Mrs Hudson planning, you're lucky it's not all caps") which just added to the buildup of nervous energy. Sherlock was practically vibrating when the day actually arrived, from the moment he'd woken up he was buzzing about the flat, fiddling with this and that until John made him sit on his hands. Mary arrived, donning a pair of big sunglasses and a floaty top. "Come on the you two, taxi's waiting!" Secrecy at this early stage was important to them all. It would put Mary in danger if people knew she carried their child.

Mary slid into the car and Sherlock, then John, squashed in after her. The obgyn they were going to was far enough away that Mary at least wouldn't crash into many people that recognized her, and could lie through her teeth about why they were there if she did. Sherlock hadn't pegged her as one who'd lie easily, but the best liars in the world were the ones that were honestly convinced they were not liars, making the trait nearly invisible. It was a blindspot usually reserved for secret service agents in his books, but Mary was no MI6 assassin so he filed the surprising occurrence away in a new Mary specific box in his mind palace entitled 'Need more data'. He'd put the jewellery conundrum in there too, simply because the question still played on his mind but John had asked him to refrain from "Turning their friend into some sort of case". He liked her too, but there was something just off kilter that he wasn't allowed to dig for under pain of... things he daren't repeat aloud, but let it be said that some of the more... colourful language used in that particular threat would have made even sailors blush. Sherlock had found it quite hot actually.

Mary and John's laughter drew him back to the present and he looked out the window at the streets outside, wondering how many more unnecessary roads the driver would take before bringing them to the right place.

John couldn't help but laugh as Mary recounted the story of an elderly woman who'd come to the shop with a fluffy little white dog in tow and asked her if they could make matching pet and owner sarcophagus there. "God!" he exclaimed, wiping tears of laughter from his face "was she bats?" Mary burst into laughter again and it set him off too. "No! She just didn't want her kids to get any money when she died!" They were off again until John thought he'd never have to do a sit up again with the workout his stomach was getting just from laughing in this taxi. It crossed his mind that this was, as he frequently spouted to Sherlock, "A bit not good", laughing at that woman. He brushed it aside though and John smiled to himself to think that before he'd met Sherlock, he would never have actually laughed at a story like that, not without feeling incredibly guilty for it, but Sherlock had swept that guilt away like a gust of wind tosses paper on the road. Sure he still felt sad for whatever situation had lead to discord in that family, but really, a bichon frise with a sarcophagus matching it's owner's? A story is made by the telling, and Mary was a great storyteller.

She'd put him at ease from the first time they'd met with her easy going ways and quick fire stories. God they would be in her debt forever for giving them this opportunity, regardless of whether she thought so or not. He'd been absolutely terrified when she had agreed to meet up with him and Sherlock after that phone call, and truthfully he'd spent the better part of the week beforehand fretting endlessly about how she might react to Sherlock. John had been completely shocked by Sherlock's attempt to ease his worry by being affable and Mary's almost instant acceptance of the consulting detective she'd heard so much about.

The first five minutes in the café were awkward, with Sherlock staring at Mary and Mary staring at Sherlock, the odds were really not looking to be in their favour, but sure enough after Sherlock finished the spewing of everything he'd deduced as had become his custom, Mary had laughed and offered her hand for him to shake. "Mary Morstan, I always knew you'd look better without the hat. I also might have read your blog before coming here." Both men's eyebrows had risen at that "I liked the essay about perfume. Ash... not so much." Sherlock's lip twitched upwards as he shook the offered hand. "Sherlock Holmes. I told John people read my blog." and that had been that, ice broken.

The three of them had spent over an hour just talking and by the time they were leaving everything was agreed and Mary actually liked Sherlock. She said as much before she left, and impressed upon them both that they were lucky to have one another. She was right of course.

Business had been started the very next day, and implantation a week or so later. They'd had to run before everything was finished because Lestrade had called, but here they were getting ready to see (well kind of, it was a bit early to actually see anything really) their baby.

John felt a jab in his side and looked up to find the others were already out of the car and waiting for him. Cheeks lightly coloured he clambered out and followed on behind the two of them. Every hospital felt the same to him, and sitting in yet another bloody waiting room was becoming a monthly activity. At least this was a comfort zone for him, Sherlock was shifting in his seat and making intense eye contact with the door. John rubbed his leg absentmindedly, noting with no small amount of pride that Sherlock relaxed after only a few minutes of it. Of course it was much easier to be calm when you weren't even looking at the various stares and glares you're receiving from women in varied states of pregnancy.

To her credit Mary seemed the calmest of them all, giving a few of the more vicious glarers cheeky winks and making others choke on laughter as she mimed giving a very enthusiastic simultaneous hand and blowjob, so focused on the act that she didn't notice two heads turn to watch her. When she did, she paused midmotion like a child caught stealing biscuits and John couldn't hold his laughter in, his hearty chuckle the catalyst for an outbreak of laughter among the many spectators and some indignant sputtering from the people the show had been aimed at. They were called soon after that .

Sherlock observed everyone they passed on their way down the corridor (Three cat lovers, two polyamourus women, five IVF patients, one illegitimate child, two couples considering adoption) and wondered if there was any way they could avoid telling anyone about their child until they were born. Unlikely, but it'd make things easier for him and John. In fairness they wouldn't have to deal with old biddies stopping them on the street to ask when the baby was due, if they knew the sex and other such insipid questions, that was Mary's cross to bear. Along with that neither of the Baker street duo would have to stop working until they literally had a child in their arms which was good because there had been a case a couple of months back that even Sherlock couldn't solve, an invisible man with an invisible knife, and he needed to reaffirm his reputation.

They were led to a door and Mary stepped in first, the doctors office equipped with everything they'd need to get this done. "Hello, I'm Dr Stapleton and I'll be handling you all through Ms Morstan's pregnancy." The brown haired woman smiled at them and shook hands before gesturing the table. "That's my cue" Mary smiled as she hopped up and the doctor began to go through what would happen. Unnecessary for this particular party, John was a doctor, and Sherlock had done more research than most practitioners would ever have had to learn, at this stage he was confident he could deliver the babe himself, and Mary had gone through all of this before with her best friend, right down to holding the woman's hand at the birth.

Still, on she droned (Right handed, Had chicken sandwich at lunch,Married twelve years, Happily, One daughter called Abby, Rabbit named Bluebell, Applied for research position out of city, Will need glasses within ten years, Allergic to shellfish) and it took a lot of shin kicking to make sure Sherlock didn't tell her to shut up and get on with it. But just as he opened his mouth to start tearing her down, she beckoned for them to take a position around the table as Mary exposed her still mostly flat stomach to the air and the doctor poured blue gel that was, surprise, cold, and wheeled the screen around so everyone would see it properly.

Sherlock felt a hand slip into his and squeeze tightly. He squeezed back, as stupid as it was, now that they were on the cusp of this moment he was bloody nervous. "You ready?" she asked as she rolled the wand along Mary's abdomen. John, already hand in hand with Sherlock took Mary's hand in his right. Three sets of lungs held their breath. For a minute, nothing. And then "Thumpthump,thumpthump,thump thump."

The grounds of Holmes manor were filled with people pruning, sprucing, and generally perfecting the place for the wedding that was to be held there in less than two days time. The happy couple and any relatives that would need to stay in the house would arrive this afternoon and then tomorrow morning they'd be over run with guests for the event itself. The sun had begun beating down a few days earlier, which would be a blessing for the wedding but was a nightmare for the workers, most of whom were quietly dying in their uniforms, but wouldn't take them off even on pain of death. Still, chairs were being arranged in perfect lines, the ball room set up with tables and daintily written place cards, and silverware polished within an inch of it's life. The chef had only made three people cry, Christian, the Holmes tailor of choice, had insisted no one else see his 'masterpieces' until the ceremony and with he family arriving tomorrow there'd probably be a few anxiety attacks, and Sherlock had blatantly refused to have anything as ridiculous as a rehearsal so all in all things were going as expected in Orabelle's mind. With orders to Sebastian to call only if there was a matter that needed their attention (someone was dying or the florist couldn't get what they wanted) she sat in the second floor lounge with Martha, staring out the window at the scurry below. "This time tomorrow our boys will be out there" Martha smiled and Orabelle couldn't help but smile back.

"My hurry up, I said I was sorry but you know I didn't mean to get you drunk and you could have stopped taking the damned shots if you wanted to! I had no idea how much John could drink, he was still going when you hit the deck, and I know you don't care at the moment but sooner or later everyone's been part of an almost orgy in the middle of a gay club! I'd try and reassure you all morning, really I would but right now we have to go, and I don't know about you but I would really like to wash some of this... whatever this is off of me before we have to explain to your mother exactly why we're covered in more glitter than a Barbie doll's skimpy dress the day before your brother's wedding. Look, I come bearing gifts, water and paracetamol, so please get off the stairs and into the shower." Mycroft groaned as he heaved his body upright, and Greg smiled encouragingly from the top of the staircase, about twelve steps further up than Mycroft had managed last night.  
"Gregory. If you ever entertain the notion of giving me more than I bargain for in an alcoholic beverage again, yes I did see what you put in those graduated cylinders, I will not be responsible for what becomes of you."  
Greg dropped the tablets into the awaiting hand when Mycroft reached him and lead the way down the hall to the bathroom. Yolanda and Samuel would be giving them a bollicking when they came to find about five different types of glitter, some confetti, and a blue French horn they'd... acquired somewhere along the way.

It'd just been the four of them - the brides to be, himself and Mycroft, but Greg could honestly not remember being to a better bachelor party. Maybe it was because he'd been in charge, but he doubted if anyone out had had a better night than them. The morning however... at least he'd been a good boy and had a pint of water before crashing into bed last night, avoiding the worst of the hangover. Plus, the pictures on his phone were a great way to start the day, mainly because apart from a few 'selfies' (a word his niece had taught him the last time they'd spoken on the phone) he wasn't in any of them.

Stepping into the shower with a sulky Mycroft, he turned the water up to as hot as they could stand it and pushed Mycroft into the spray, silencing his complaints by grabbing the shower gel and proceeding to wash off every speck of glitter as an apology. It certainly sounded like he'd been forgiven by the end of it, and honestly he'd had no idea they'd be dropping glitter from the ceiling for no apparent reason. Within an hour they were both refreshed and on their way to Holmes manor.

John cracked an eyelid and burst out laughing at the sight that greeted him. What had started out as a game where they were trying to guess what name was on a post it attached to their heads had ended up with the two of them scribbling on each other like they were eight years old, getting in the bath with no water, pretending to be pirates, deciding they were hungry, reheating some left overs and then, clearly, falling asleep in them. Sherlock was lying staring right back at him with hair full of pasta and a face full of sharpie. "I trust we're never speaking of that again?" he said, voice hoarse from shouting down a man who'd contested his knowledge of ash at the fourth club they'd gone to. John grinned "Which bit? The bit where you danced around Mycroft calling him a chicken for not trying new things and pushed him into the writhing mass on the dance floor? Or maybe the part where you, Greg and a few people we bumped into from the yard did body shots? Or could you possibly be talking about the part where you decided the girl who was, I admit lazily, dancing around a pole in a cage was doing it 'wrong' and you shoved her out, stole her heels, popped them on, got in yourself and showed off some pretty intense skills on that pole?" Sherlock made a face like he was trying to forget and nodded furiously, which made John giggle even harder as pasta shells fell out of his curls. "Whatever you want dancing queen. Now, to the shower, and then your Mother's."

John's phone pinged as he dried his hair.

When did I end up with a pair of six inch stripper heels in my coat? We should bring those two out more often, best club crawl I've done in years -GL

I'll be wanting those back as a souvenir, I seem to remember you two got the French horn so fair's fair ;) Reminder that we usually go out to get away from them, but you're right it was great, nice job Best Man -JW

They don't call me the best for nothing. We're leaving now, get My to send a car for you? -GL

Ten minutes would be great -JW

On its way -GL

Sherlock squirmed almost imperceptibley in his seat for the tenth time. "Spit it out love, you're not getting cold feet are you?" John ventured, it would be better for Sherlock to back out now rather than later if he was going to. Sherlock frowned and gave John that oh so familiar 'you're an idiot, you know that right?' look. "No I don't have cold feet, but I do have an entire other set of relations that you're about to be thrust into head first and quite frankly they can be... overwhelming." A sigh of relief on the marriage front at least.

"Overwhelming in what way, You said they were almost the complete opposite of the Holmes' but you never really spent time with them because they can't be around the other side of the family?" Sherlock sighed. "John by the end of the day we'll probably have two poems, four songs, a play and at least three characters in a novel based off of our relationship, and that's ignoring interpretive dance and spirit kind of overwhelming. I envy the fact that you don't have to deal with this sort of circus of a family. That is to say they weren't quite as eccentric as mine, not that I wish my relations to be dead, or that I envy the fact that yours are. To clarify, I am irritable and they are... 'free spirits' as Mummy would have me say." John frowned to himself, that was a lot of art and 'free spirits'? Sounded very Woodstock. Still, he'd dealt with Holmes', he could deal with this. "In case you've forgotten I spent a week with the obnoxious side of the family, if all I get this weekend is epic poems written about our wedding I think I'll be alright don't you?"

By the time they'd arrived, the grounds had been inundated with a gang of brightly coloured people with flowers in hair and feet without shoes, some slowly plucking guitar strings along with melodic singing, with a line of beautiful elfin girls dancing around them, the constant scratch of lead on paper coming from all corners as bodies hunched over sketchbook and note pad, others having impassioned debates about, if John was remembering his secondary school years correctly, the legitimacy of the theory that Antonio and Bassanio were lovers all along.* "Wow." Sherlock grunted in response and grabbed his arm, guiding him away from the grass that he'd somehow managed to reach without even noticing and towards the house.

A little dark haired boy had begun sprinting up the drive as soon as the car had stopped and called out to them as they walked. "Uncle Sherlock, Uncle Sherlock! Auntie Belle said you'd bring me the photo if I promised to walk down the aisle, the one of the nun!" John gaped at Sherlock. "The one without the-" As he spoke Sherlock was pulling a rather graphic photo of a headless nun out of his coat pocket. "She might have mentioned something of the sort Archie, now take that and run along, I expect detailed notes back when you've finished studying it. Blame Mycroft for this by the way, I said he should be the one who had to be page boy but alas Mummy was not half as amused by the idea as I was." Archie did as told with a big smile and it was only then that Sherlock turned to John wearing his best version of an innocent face. John hadn't said anything before he'd started spewing. "In my defense it wasn't my idea, and the boy is interested in criminology, specifically forensic analysis and I am just helping him along to avoid another Anderson being released into the world. If anything what I just did was a public service. He's ten anyway, at that age I'd actually seen a corpse up close, admittedly that particular corpse was in a coffin at the time, but still. Oh. Eh, John that was my cousin Archie, Archie even though you're out of earshot that was my John, introduced. " John watched the boy, clad in dark jeans and grey shirt running through the rainbow of people to a secluded spot and taking out a pen and paper. He stood out a mile in the family group, probably in a similar way to Sherlock as a child.

John rolled his eyes in fond exasperation and opened the front door, wafting delicious scents out into their noses. "You're lucky I'm too happy to be that concerned about the issues I have with you stealing crime scene photos. As for Archie, I trust your judgement in this as in everything else. If you say he's ready, he's ready." Sherlock was still genuinely touched each time John voiced his trust in the detective, he trusted him completely and had done since the day they'd gone on their first case together. John had trusted him enough to believe he wasn't a fake, enough to take his hand and bloody run like hell from the police, enough to put his heart in Sherlock's care, enough to lay his life down if needs be, and wasn't that something wonderful? There was so much he wanted to say, but nothing was coming out until he stopped trying to say all that sentiment wrapped stuff and softened his expression into a small smile. "I'm happy too." John's hip bumped against his own. "I should hope so, after all we're getting married in the morning. Ah, look here comes the hen party." Sure enough Mummy and Mrs Hudson were rushing down the hall to meet them with big grins on their faces. Sherlock caught John's eye and they both burst into laughter.

After some preliminary mother henning on both their parts and assurances that everything would go perfectly, they'd not have to worry about a thing, John was chivvied outside by Mrs Hudson who wanted to do... something with Sherlock that John hadn't quite managed to catch in between the stream of inane chatter she used to hide her motives without lying. She was quite good at it too, and soon he was surrounded by the entire Ledger clan.

"So you've written a speech then?" Mrs Hudson asked Sherlock as he flopped onto a couch. "Yes. I found it to be a much easier task than speaking for once. I'm not sure I've done it quite right but John shall be the first to hear it so I cannot show it to you." She smiled indulgently and patted his head. "Of course dear. I know Greg has something prepared too, so those will happen at the reception." Sherlock groaned and rolled onto his side so he was facing her. "Don't whine at me young man, if you'd had a rehearsal you'd know when everything was to happen." He frowned. "I don't plan on doing this twice, for any reason. When I step onto that... altar with John it will be the one and only time I do so, and I can't quite bring myself to care if that is wrong because I will not have some sort of stage show beforehand. Once, binding us together truly, or not at all." Sherlock looked up at a sniffle from the elderly woman and was shocked to see her wiping a tear from her eye. "And to think anyone ever thought you were unfeeling. I'm proud of you Sherlock, of both of my boys. You two almost had me convinced there was really nothing between you!" He had become shockingly sentimental about this whole affair, but all the research he'd done had concluded that this sentimentality would pass once this generally emotion fueled time was over.

Orabelle arrived back with a garment bag slung across her arms and closed the bedroom door with a click before hanging the bag on the door of the wardrobe and placing a stack of boxes on the ground beneath it. "Well I believe that's everything you'll need in the morning." Sherlock looked the pile up and down, one bag, one shoe box, one set of cufflinks. "And John?" The two women laughed and Sherlock frowned, he didn't enjoy missing something and he clearly was. "Bad luck to see him before the wedding, traditionally you have to sleep apart and then only see each other when you reach the aisle." Well that was just ridiculous. He'd not slept apart from John by choice since they'd started sleeping together and this was not the time to separate them. Clearly Mummy saw the consternation on his face because she simply gave him a hard look that she'd perfected over years of trying to get him to shut up when father was around. No arguments allowed then. "Just wonderful." he sneered and hopped up from the couch. "Well I'm going to go find John seeing as we apparently don't have that much longer to talk" Sherlock looked at the orange light coming in through the windows and rushed to the door with a perfunctory acknowledgment of the others in the room "Mrs Hudson, Mummy." A voice - Mummy - called after him "No telling John what room you're in so he can sneak in! I'm next door and a very light sleeper!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and walked down the stairs that would have been used by servants back in the day, passing many workers scurrying to and fro to get to the back door. He strode out into the gentle sunshine and stopped to watch the scene unfolding oblivious to his presence. John, head thrown back in laughter with nimble fingers lacing flowers through his hair, golden light making him glow brighter than the night sky, familiar figures staring and writing and sketching and playing and singing for him. And as if he could feel Sherlock near him he opened his eyes and turned to meet Sherlock's gaze, and his smile was absolutely radiant Sherlock couldn't help but smile back. A quick word to the gang of children playing with his hair and he was up and making his way over and pulling Sherlock against him, pressing their lips together and kissing him within an inch of his life. Dazed and blinking once they'd pulled apart Sherlock couldn't even chastise John for the utterly smug face he was making. "You'll make them worse you know" he breathed and John puffed a chuckle. "They've promised me a portfolio of a piece of work each by the end of tomorrow, I'm hoping that makes it in at least once. Hungry?"

Greg smiled at the deluge of files he'd received as he scrolled through them on his laptop in a sitting room in the East wing of the manor. The idea he'd had for his speech had come together like nothing else he'd ever had to do, and he was just making a hard copy to be safe. Mycroft was seated at the desk with his phone in hand, texting away in rapid taps of long fingers and waiting only moments for replies. It had gotten dark quicker than he'd expected it would, he'd been so far out of it that his only indicator that it was late was the sudden noise of children being tucked into beds and serenaded by their parents, and then the commotion of Sherlock being dragged away from John and sent to his room which was a secret that none of them were allowed know the where abouts of to avoid any sneaking. Greg thought it was hilarious, his wife hadn't minded their being separated before the wedding at all, but here was John whispering reassurances and Sherlock being petulant over those same few hours. "I'll just go have a word with John, we should think about sleeping too My, you know, get that all important last batch of beauty sleep before the photos tomorrow." Mycroft made a noise "Thanks ever so for that reminder Gregory, I do not photograph well as it is, but I'm sure I'll look even worse being sat next to you." Greg laughed and pressed a kiss into his hair. "None of that now, I for one think you always look ravishing. Off to bed with you, I'll be in in a little while."

John was sitting on the windowsill of his bedroom when Greg knocked and came in with a soft grin. "You alright mate?" John nodded his head towards the wardrobe. "They got my dress uniform, beret and everything. Sherlock's going to have a coronary when he sees it." Sure enough hung on the door was a navy tunic coat complete with red sash pinned with a Victoria cross and OSM and dark trousers with red outseams. "Bloody hell John, I didn't know you'd gotten a VC!?" John looked abashed and Greg couldn't equate the jumper wearing, tea making, Sherlock chasing man he knew with the heroic army captain he'd heard nothing about.

"Not many people do know I have one. It's supposed to be in a safe in the bank but clearly not anymore. Greg... were you... nervous, before you got married? I should be more nervous than most people, I'm marrying Sherlock Holmes for God's sake but I just... I'm worried he'll change his mind more than anything else. He said he wasn't getting cold feet but..." he trailed off and Greg's heart ached for him. This whole night alone lark got to everyone he'd ever known, made them doubt themselves or their partner and made them stay awake all night, meaning they were knackered in the morning. "Everyone feels that way the night before, trust me, I was a mess, didn't sleep, it was awful because no one could make it better but I think I have a solution for you mate, just promise not to rat me out will you?" John nodded emphatically and Greg stood up and started taking off his tie while John spluttered. "Not for that you numpty, for your eyes" Still spluttering. "As in you aren't supposed to see him but if you can't..." Greg lead and John began to grin. "You my friend are a genius." Greg tied the tie in a knot across his eyes and lead him to the door and out into the corridor.

"Right" Greg whispered "I was sworn to secrecy so you'll have to find him on your own. He's on this floor somewhere at least so no stairs. Goodnight and good luck." He watched as John began to make his way down the corridor and then went back to his own room where Mycroft was already sound asleep. John walked on when he heard Greg's door close and focused hard on listening to every little noise coming from behind each individual door. Alarm clocks ticked on bedside tables, children and adults alike babbled in their sleep, pages turned, sheets moved, curtains blew, a glass of water was picked up and put down again, lovers whispered quietly to on another, one by one he eliminated each room, needing only a few seconds to be certain the person behind it wouldn't be Sherlock. At the end of the long hall there was a turn he hadn't expected, hadn't noticed until he'd had to catch himself before falling and the wall had gone on for more than was necessary. A light snore that sounded uncannily like Orabelle greeted his ears and John knew he'd reached the right place. A few silent steps later he pressed down the handle to a door and stole inside.

"John!" Sherlock breathed mid-pace "How did you know where I was? Mummy forbid anyone from saying and also why do you have Lestrade's tie on your face?" John walked cautiously over to where the sound of Sherlock's voice came from with arms outstretched and inhaled the scent if Sherlock deeply when he met the wall of flesh and wrapped his arms around it. "I could shoot you through the heart in a crowd with my eyes closed Sherlock Holmes, I know every inch of you, to smell, taste, hear or see. Don't doubt for one moment that I couldn't find you. As for the tie, It's bad luck for us to see each other, but I can't see you can I? Greg's idea. I couldn't sleep." Sherlock enclosed John in his arms too, nuzzling into his hair.

"I had planned on sleeping but it's not going very well. John... if you want to back out I would understand. In fact you marrying me would be so far beyond my understanding, I already cannot fathom why you agreed to this relationship, and the Mary situation... I am a man, John. I will never not be that, I will never not be myself in all my rude, insulting, arrogant, carelessness. You could have anyone. Are you sure this, I, am what you want?" John clutched him tighter to his body, feeling the race of his pulse through his chest. "Oh Sherlock. You are exactly what I want. I had thought maybe you mightn't want me but... this whole separation thing doesn't seem to be going well for either of us." Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief and stroked his hand up and down John's back. "No it doesn't. Usually I would love to be alone with my thoughts but tonight they aren't quite as pleasant as I would have hoped. I think I prefer it when we are alone together."  
"Me too."

They stood, curled around one another and swaying gently from side to side for hours. "It's getting bright, you should go to bed John, we have a wedding to go to later you know." Sherlock joked and John smiled against his shoulder. "You go to sleep too." He kissed a smooth cheek quickly. "Goodnight love, I'll see you later. I'll be the one waiting at the end of the aisle." Sherlock walked him to the door and kissed him goodbye, then watched as he began to walk away.  
"John" he called in a stage whisper. "Yeah?" John whispered back. "I cannot wait to be your husband." Sherlock could hear the smile in John's voice when he replied "I can't wait to marry you either Sherlock." He only closed the door when John had gone around the corner. Just seven more hours. He could do seven hours. Then, the rest of his life, and wasn't that a thought to fall asleep with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Can ya taste it? It's a coming gentlefolk, next chapter we'll finally have a wedding! I might be drawing this out but what can I say, I like build up. Just a few points: The noise an ultrasound makes is more of a whoosh, and you can hear the mother's heart beat too obviously but the baby's heart will be twice as fast and that's how they tell but ignoring the fact that Man's alive made it more dramatic. I couldn't resist the little bit about the stag night, it was too tempting and the Blue French horn thing comes from How I Met Your Mother. Also with the dress uniform, I took some artistic license with that because I honestly have no clue which specific dress uniform John would have had and I just picked one that I thought might be it, I also picked the awards I felt he'd have just because *This is reference to Shakespeare's The Merchant Of Venice and I personally think that Bassanio and Antonio were super gay, it's a great play anyway if you're into that sort of thing.
> 
> Anywho! Your comments and criticisms are always appreciated, With that I say morning (or goodnight or good afternoon depending on where you are...) ~S


	31. Chapter 31

8:00am

Sherlock opens his eyes, unsurprised to find himself more well rested now on the morning of the wedding than the past few weeks of constant anxiety had allowed. He'd barely begun to shift himself into an upright position when Mummy walked in. "Oh good you're up, I was worried for a moment that you'd still be asleep and I just wouldn't have had the heart to wake you, even still, I remember when you were a little boy, no higher than my knee and you'd be bouncing about the house for days but when you finally crashed you'd sleep anywhere, but so soundly that I would just have to get someone to carry you inside rather than wake you. You were so beautiful, all our friends were constantly jealous of your curls and your eyes and I always thought they should have seen you sleeping to see just how lovely you really looked... look at me getting all sentimental! We have a lot to do and not long to do it, so into the shower with you!" Sherlock groaned internally. They were already starting with the drivel about his childhood, and it would only worsen as the day progressed. It was only thanks to Mrs Hudson that he'd been saved from Mummy having a speech at the reception. Perhaps he'd buy her a new kettle. Or John would. John... "Sherlock! Clean yourself or I'll do it for you, don't think I won't." Muttering obscenities under his breath he did as asked and trundled to the bathroom.

John yawned widely and grinned to himself, thanks to a lucky round of rock paper scissors Sherlock was the one who had to deal with his mother and Mrs Hudson first thing in the morning while John got the afternoon and then Sherlock had both again as Mrs Hudson was his best man and Mummy insisted on giving the poor man away. Instead John would be greeted at a more reasonable hour by Greg and Molly, who was set to arrive on the first train of the day. He took his time showering, chuckling at the fact all his preferred brands of bathing products were awaiting him, and stood in front of the sink shaving for a good thirty minutes, taking extra care to get each hair until his face was smooth and his door was opening. "John? Molly just got here so I'm going to grab her and then we'll be back" Greg called to him from the bedroom and he yelled back his acknowledgments. Years of odd hours with his doctor training and then the military meant John could work with only having two or three hours of sleep, but still, looking at his face in the mirror he would have liked to look a bit more refreshed.

The door opening for the second time was his cue to exit, although he was in his jocks because he was not eating breakfast in his dress uniform. He just wasn't. "There had better be breakfast in one of your arms because I'm starved" John said cheerily as he rubbed a towel through his hair and strolled out to greet them. Both Molly and Greg stared. "What?" John looked around, but found nothing. Molly blushed as she answered. "You look um... rather built actually John, don't mind us we're just..." "admiring the view" Greg chimed in with a big grin and John couldn't help but laugh. "Thanks. Hungry?"

9:00am

Sherlock was a bit fed up now. Obviously he hadn't been listening when they'd been explaining what he had to do but this was getting a bit ridiculous. "Why on earth do I have to walk down the aisle? I'm not some sort of blushing bride Mummy, Still not your daughter." Mummy sighed at him over the top of a glass of champagne and orange juice while Lawrence (his hairdresser from childhood) faffed about with his still wet hair. "I know you're not my daughter, you made the fact quite clear the one time I tried to put your hair up when you were barely able to speak. You're walking down the aisle because that's what you do at weddings, one waits at the altar, the other walks down the aisle. It's all about pagentry and traditions darling, besides it's not like I put you in a white dress and veil. You're much more suited to walking down anyway" Sherlock spluttered indignantly and Mrs Hudson patted his arm "with your physique and such you'll be much more graceful than John would and that's the simple truth of it. Back to what we were saying. You'll walk three beats after Oceana and Archie which will mean paying attention to..." He'd stopped paying attention at all and Lawrence bless him turned on the hairdryer, effectively drowning out his mother and Mrs Hudson. A few moments peace was lovely, neither woman had stopped yapping since they'd arrived, at least Mrs Hudson had brought tea and some breakfast, the time it took to chew and swallow had been all the respite he'd gotten from the barrage of sentimental drivel and demands. The relative quiet gave him time to just be and he couldn't help but think that in five short hours he'd be standing in an empty gazeebo for three beats before walking down that bloody aisle. To John.

10am

Molly giggled into her coffee as John regaled her with tales of the bachelor party, she had been invited but covering the graveyard shift for a friend so she could have the whole weekend off for the actual ceremony was a fair enough excuse not to go. "And then Sally just pulled them both up on the bar Coyote Ugly style and I don't think I've heard so many wolf whistles in my life as when Greg and Sherlock started to dance and go along with it, say nothing about the look on Sally's face and she just shrugged and continued, God Mols you should have seen it!" Greg's eyes twinkled with mischief and John narrowed his eyes. "What did you do?" he asked and Greg beamed "Guess who has photos and video footage of the whole thing?" "You cheeky bastard! Come on then Molly, you're in for a treat, I hadn't even gotten to the bit about the stripper-" Greg chimed in "or the horn!" Whipping out his phone while wiping tears of laughter from his eyes all three settled into their chairs, allowing very discreet, very well paid, very exasperated staff to get on with their hairs. Greg's and John's would take no length if they could sit still. Molly was laughing so hard she could barely breath by the time she made it to the end of the photos, the last one being of Greg with a massive grin, covered in glitter, taking a photo of himself with Mycroft's passed out form. Last strand of hair safely tucked into a yellow bow and light make up applied by said well paid (and lightly amused) staff, all three were dismissed in their robes back to John's half of the house. The make shift barbershop cum beautician had set up in a large communal bathroom on the second of four floors with bedrooms on the fourth, their journey back upstairs meant bumping into a large quantity of the Ledger clan, all of whom assured him unprompted that they were working on their various pieces, a few were already finished but most would be scribbling away until the last available moment. Distantly he could hear a high voice complaining about having their hair brushed, no amount of explaining that the wedding was only hours away abated the grumbles, in fact all those efforts received was a bitter "That isn't my fault!" John glanced at the time. Half past eleven, only just under three hours to go until he'd be expected on the altar, watching as Sherlock walked up the aisle and into the rest of their lives. He couldn't bloody wait.

12:00pm

John had the mother types for the next hour and Sherlock took a minute after whooshing them both out the door to lean back against it and breathe. Both women were already well on their way to tipsy and couldn't seem to stop reminiscing about every misfortune that had ever befallen him, from his clumsy and ungainly preteen falls and failures to his young adult experimental disasters especially those involving singed brows, they were all over them, sometimes he thought they had forgotten he was there but then one would pinch his cheek (Mrs Hudson) or comment on who they could see arriving through the window and look to him for agreement on whatever judgements were doled out (Mummy) either way there had been no escape. A quiet, perfunctory knock sounded against the door at his back and Sherlock groaned.

"Well I seem to be the last to learn our furnishings have become sentient. Perhaps I should increase surveillance to insure none of the windows decide to become stubborn." Mycroft's wry voice carried into him and although it was as quietly commanding as he always used Sherlock knew that was an attempt at humor to lighten the mood. Mycroft was one of the few who would know instinctively that he'd be in a mood for peace and quiet after spending every waking minute with between four to eight sets of eyes trained on him the entire time. He opened the door and Mycroft entered and closed it behind himself. Sherlock stood stiffly, as if expecting a blow and Mycroft wished he could have come a bit sooner but the government waits for no man and he'd had to put all his efforts into making sure today would go uninterrupted so he could enjoy it, alas there was no use crying over spilt milk. "Don't feel obliged to stand on my account." Sherlock sat where he'd stood moments before, on the ground with his back against the door. Mycroft slid down to sit next to him.

An awkward pause and he coughed, this really wasn't his area. "So... how are you doing?" Close enough to outright asking about his emotions that Sherlock would know what he meant, far enough away that he could deny the fact if he needed to. He didn't, Sherlock spilled like a pear shaped flask set on a table. "Good. Not good. Both. Neither. Are we... Are we supposed to... feel... this guilty?" He understood what was meant by that question, it was one he'd asked himself. "I don't know little brother, does the party that receives the better deal in a relationship between ordinary people feel guilt? Perhaps, perhaps not. If all we have to live with is guilt in order to have lives with John or in my case Gregory, any penance is worth it. If guilt is all we have to pay... To feel guilty is to know how precious this gift is, to know how we are likely undeserving but we are being given everything anyway. I... I think perhaps we are supposed to feel this guilty brother mine." They sat in companionable silence for a time, and Mycroft made a note to tell Gregory how much he loved him when he saw him next.

"Aside from that. Nerves are quite common. I hear you're to make a speech." Sherlock nodded and looked unsure of himself for just a moment and Mycroft, being a Holmes, took that second and read all he was supposed to in it. "Worry not brother dear, you'll already be legally married by then, nothing you could possibly say that would change that. Enough of this, we're made of sterner stuff I think. Come along, I want to see the suit I des- had tailored for you." They rose and Sherlock gave his brother a rare smile "I'd recognise that stitch pattern anywhere, no matter who does it or what it's on I always see the knees of my school trousers." He was glad Sherlock turned away when he did because he needed a minute to compose himself. Damned weddings and their sentimental folly and heightened emotions.

Sherlock reappeared and Mycroft had to pat himself on the back because this was definitely his best design yet, and made perfectly too. Three piece, jacket and pants both an almost black navy as specified and perfectly tailored because obviously all of Sherlock's measurements were already at his tailors, but it was the shirt and waistcoat that really pulled the whole ensemble together. Both were so close to being white you might just believe they were white if it weren't for the shimmering quality they had that made you give them a second look, made them a paler than the moon sort of silver, and made Sherlock look even more ethereal than he usually did. Mycroft had a bowtie in reserve in case Sherlock decided he wanted it, the same colour as the shirt but for a hint of blue, he also had something else, with strict instructions from Gregory as to how to phrase the giving of it. Now seemed as good a time as any. "Traditions for nuptials are tedious but should be observed and adhered to for the most part, and thus it falls upon me to give you this, and tell you to put it on because apparently 'John will understand' although I'm not sure I want to understand" Mycroft reached into his pocket and pulled out a lacy garter with more than a little blushing. Sherlock smirked and pulled in on under his trousers, not needing any more than that.

Standing in front of the full length mirror Mycroft put his arm around Sherlock's shoulders and smiled at their reflections. "I'm proud of you Sherlock, and I hope that being married to John makes you as happy as you could possibly be. Neither of us expected this day would come, but we've both found something, someone, worth changing everything we've ever known for. Perhaps being wrong isn't quite the catastrophe we believe it to be. Think on it anyway. They're on their way back, Try to stay calm. Oh, yes, John said to tell you he loves you or some other such sentiment. I'll see you down there." Sure enough Mycroft had barely rounded the corner before Mrs Hudson had swooped in, herself in a dark blue dress and cream cardiac that suited her as well as anything she'd have bought herself, but was just fitted a bit better, and moments later Mummy in something similar but the dress was lilac and the cardigan a shawl.

While they had wanted to have some of their other friends there on the altar with them, there had been no way to choose fairly between the four most likely, John had picked Greg just because he was closest with him but Sherlock was rather close with all three of Molly, Mycroft and Mrs Hudson. In the end Mrs Hudson won out, but they had agreed that Molly and Mycroft would be their signed witnesses on the licence, involving all four. Mummy had organised herself to give him away, thus meaning that the whole family was a part of the proceedings. All Sherlock really cared about was the fact that John was the one waiting for him at the altar.

1:30pm

John's time with Mrs Hudson and Orabelle had been a bit odd in his opinion. Orabelle had basically suggested they tie him up so he couldn't escape; not that he wanted to leave at all but the fact that she suspected he did grated, and in the next breath was repeating how she thought he was a great man and how good he was to Sherlock and how lucky they all were to know him and the like, getting a bit misty eyed. Mrs Hudson just kept interrupting at intervals to let everyone know that they were her boys and that she'd have married ones of her own now so take that Mrs Turner. Greg slyly informed him that both women were a bit over the limit and assured that both would be sober by the ceremony. He bloody hoped so. Then the door had swung open dramatically and a short man in glasses announced that the flowers had arrived, if Mrs Holmes would like to oversee their distribution? That sobered her right up and she was off like a light, Mrs Hudson in tow, both blowing past Mycroft's PA who was standing in the door sheepishly. Molly was blushing and trying not to smile and John, not quite as dense as he once was, beckoned the woman in.

"Come on in, what's today's name of choice?" Lucia grinned and strode in, holding her hand out to him. "Lucia. All the family knows, and now you're about to be part of it, so do you. I'm thinking of going by Esme for the day." John shook her hand and laughed happily. "Esme it is then. You look gorgeous by the way, Greg doesn't she look great?" Greg nodded and gave Lucia a cheeky wink, he knew about her and Molly too, in fact the only one who didn't know that everyone in the room was aware of their relationship was Molly herself. "Seriously, Molly, isn't she stunning?" Molly looked her up and down, from the artfully messy bun of chestnut hair, perfectly applied make up, midnight blue one sleeve gown that looked like it was made of falling leaves, down to painted toenails in silver strapped heels. She said nothing, just stared. Lucia herself was beginning to blush under the gaze and Greg coughed to ease some tension which seemed to snap Molly back to her senses. "Quite! She looks... quite beautiful." Molly squeaked in that voice that she used when Sherlock really had her flustered. Lucia really did blush then, and brushed a strand of loose hair behind her ear as she muttered a quick thank you.

Right around that moment was when Greg realised the original party of three were all dressed in fluffy white robes, still, which might have added to the awkwardness. "Let's get dressed shall we? Molly, there's a room next door that your suitcase was brought to by Sebastian, You take Esme with you, give her a proper hello eh?" He was hit across the back of the head simultaneously by John and Lucia, and Molly rolled her eyes. Her confidence was blossoming in Lucia's company, they were both clearly very happy and that was all John really needed to know. She wasn't quite over her shyness, and flustering Molly was so simple sometimes you did it without even noticing, but six months ago that last comment might have made her stammer and blush or get defensive. Not any more. John for one knew that underneath all the backwards self esteem issues Molly was a very strong, brave and loyal woman, she just needed a hand letting other people see that. Gently inclining her head towards the door Lucia plucked up Molly's hand lightly in hers as they left. "Right so. Into our Sunday best."

John stared hard at himself in the mirror, carefully adjusting medals and flattening his beret. It'd been a while, a long while since he'd had occasion to wear the ensemble, not since he'd been awarded the medals pinned to his breast actually. That ceremony was one he remembered very little of, the agony of his shoulder, the grief of lost brothers, the emptiness of discharge honourable or otherwise. He hadn't cared what he looked like in the damned uniform, although he suspected the far away eyes and ashen skin would have made him look dead. Now however he cared a little. He'd be stood next to Sherlock who could make literally anything look good, and he'd undoubtedly be dressed to perfection by the infamous tailor that had made almost everything he wore (someone should give that man a medal because those shirts... ) so Sherlock would be the picturesque Armani model stood next to some middle aged guy who was getting a bit grey around the edges. Anyone who thought men didn't fret over their appearances was just not paying attention, and before their weddings? John chuckled to himself and was resigned to the fact that he'd look how he looked regardless of whether he liked it or not. Greg looked very dapper, almost George Clooney-esque with his hair being set off by a dark blue suit, white shirt with cufflinks that had what John could only assume was the Holmes crest engraved on them and a lightly silver tie.

Molly and Lucia reappeared, Molly now wearing an adorable yellow short sleeved dress that matched her bow exactly and John couldn't help but think that they made a perfectly mismatch pair. Lucia gave a wolf whistle to which Molly put two thumbs up enthusiastically. "You look damn fine John, arm candy much? Greg you don't look awful either." Greg blew her a kiss which she caught with a wink and all four had a good laugh. Mrs Hudson abruptly ran in with a little bouttonnière for Greg, a beautiful blue orchid that she hurriedly pinned to his chest and then spun round, grabbed John and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "You look wonderful dear, all of you do, but I have to rush you because it's time for everyone to be in their places and I'm all in a tizzy. John I'll take you to the altar, Inspector you escort these two lovely ladies to their seats and then get to the gazeebo there's a good boy. John?" John straightened his jacket one last time and Greg pulled him into a tight hug "This is the worst part, just drown out everyone's voices and go to your happy place until the music starts." he whispered and John nodded, glad to have that last bit of advice. He wished his parents could have been there, or Harry, but looking around at his new makeshift family, he knew there was as much support waiting for him here as there ever could have been. "Right you are Mrs Hudson" he smiled and held out his arm for her to grasp his elbow, after all she did have a bad hip and they made their way out to the garden.

Sherlock stared at himself in the mirror, wearing now the last minute addition of a bow tie (he planned to remove it as soon as the ceremony was over) and hoped he didn't make a fool of himself. His mind was a hundred places, reminding him of all that could go wrong. What if John had changed his mind? "He's already waiting for you at the altar. His mind was made up after your first date, would you like to know how I know that?" Mycroft replied with a slight smile at the fact that Sherlock had spoken his thoughts aloud. He nodded and Mycroft smiled a bit wider. "He asked me for my blessing on the eventuality of his proposal, I thought he was joking to be quite honest, then again my humour is not what the masses would consider to be funny. But there you have it. Now on the other hand if you have decided that you don't want this I can spirit you away if you wish, but judging by the look on your face you haven't so, worry not, just focus on the periodic table until the music begins." Sherlock's heart gave a little fizzle at that. One date and John knew they would make it to this day, even went so far as to talk to Mycroft about it so oddly that he hadn't had any idea that it would actually happen. Oh John. Mycroft looked at his pocketwatch. 1:45. "You're expected in the gazeebo brother mine, and I in my seat, the ushers will be having fits." Sherlock gave a dry chuckle at his joke and began the descent to the garden.

Brothers parted ways at the door, Mycroft slipping past him to get to his place, leaving Sherlock to go in alone. The gazeebo was positioned so he wouldn't be able to see a thing until he stepped out of it, Mummy's idea no doubt, and was packed with a line of people already when he arrived. Little Archie as page boy and his cousin Oceana as flower girl chattering happily in the corner, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson arm in arm to the left, Mummy at the very edge with her face stuck out to talk to someone outside, a voice he couldn't distinguish over the general babble of the congregation outside, and a man with a camera snapped a photo here and there before darting away. Sherlock almost thought he recognised the man, but dismissed the thought, he couldn't be sure without seeing his face and that was firmly glued to the other side of the camera.

"Oh perfect you're just on time." Orabelle rubbed a hand over his cheek and straightened his tie, the way she had the first time she'd put him in one, and hadn't repeated since. "My baby boy..." she looked on the verge of tears and he took her hand in his instinctively, and she wiped her eyes quietly with the other before turning away and picking up a dark blue orchid and pinning it to his jacket, smoothing absent mindedly as she went. The familiar trill of violin strings began Greg and Mrs Hudson were moving, stepping out into the sunshine and away. "Here we go" Mummy said quietly as Oceana took her first steps out, and Archie just moments behind.

"Here we go" muttered John as he stood facing the elderly man who had introduced himself as Father Martin Harte about ten minutes beforehand.

"Here we go!" Molly squealed as the whole congregation turned to look down the aisle.

"Here we go" Sherlock affirmed as the three beats passed and the doorway was pulled open for them both to step through.

He nearly side a double take when he did step out. The aisle was a long white carpet spread between an avenue of trees that had created a tunnel, at either side of which the guests sat in rows, all able to see him clearly through the gaps. The petals scattered underfoot were a pale lavender, and the flower arrangements all along the pews were a mixture of white calla lilies, the dark blue orchids he had on his chest, and an assortment of what looked like bluebells, hydrangeas and babies breath to round it out.

Amongst the faces he could pick out many he recognised, there to the left was Angelo, and a bit further up Sally Donovan and Henry Knight, Aunt Lyssa and her new beau, Sarah Sawyer, Mick, Linda, Dave and James, firefighters and medics who the residents of Baker street fondly referred to as their personal emergency response team. Closer to the front (he hoped it was the front because he was paying very little attention to actually walking, Mummy's arm through his was steering.) was Aurora and Ford and the kids, and Molly and Lucia and Mycroft and Grandmere, There seated happily was Edgar himself and his family, Sherlock's other family as they called themselves. Then there was a gap and only carpet and trees and grass and Sherlock finally put eyes front and nearly ran to the end of the aisle. There was John, standing beaming at him.. in his dress uniform, beret and all. "Oh you didn't." he muttered sotto voce. "Oh I did. Think of it as a little wedding gift." Orabelle smirked and Sherlock blushed.

Two more steps and they were there, and Mummy was kissing his cheek and nestling his hand in John's before walking back to her seat, and all he could do was hold on tight to that hand and stare into John's face and wonder how the love and happiness there could possibly be for him. "You look unbelievable" John whispered as they turned to face the altar, erected so all would be beneath a pair of blossoming trees that had somehow grown into each other to form one. "Dearly beloved, we have gathered here today to witness the..."

Mrs Hudson was dabbing her eyes and smiling wider than Sherlock could ever remember seeing when she handed him the ring, not even news of her husband's execution had made her smile that much, and Greg too as both men said I do. When the priest finally got to the important part, Sherlock himself didn't think he could stop smiling even if Anderson had been the one officiating the ceremony. "Then, by the power vested in me, by the Church of England and Her majesty Queen Victoria, I pronounce you husbands. You may kiss your partner." John smiled up at him, a cheeky little grin before Sherlock was down, John dipping him low, a flurry of flower petals raining down on the breeze like they were in some sort of awful Rom-Com but as he grabbed a hold of John's jacket and held on for dear life as they kissed, he couldn't bring himself to care. He was John's and John was his, till death do us part. "Not in front of the children lads" Gregs voice sounded among cheers and there was an outbreak of laughter. "I love you" Sherlock murmured against his lips as John pulled him upright again with a laugh. "I know, I love you too."

They turned, hand in hand, and walked back down the aisle and into the house where they were met by Sebastian and ushered into a sitting room. "Ten minutes sirs and I'll be back to escort you to the reception" Sebastian added as he left, giving both of them stern glances that clearly meant "You bloody better have your clothes on when I get back." John chuckled and Sherlock smirked as the door closed. No sooner had it clicked than John was surrounding him, embracing Sherlock tightly, giddily. Sherlock looped his arms around John and they simply stood there for a while, breathing. Sherlock was first to break the silence. "You got Mycroft's blessing?" he asked and John could here the smile in his voice. "Oh shut up, I'm old fashioned ok?" Sherlock's answering laugh rumbled in his chest and against John's face. "God I didn't even look to see who's here I was too nervous. They did a lovely job of it though, the trees and the flowers and all that, Mrs Hudson and Orabelle, it was really something." John reached up and took off his beret, setting it down on a table and pulling Sherlock down for a quick kiss, which turned into a not quite so quick one thanks to Sherlock groaning "I like this damned uniform almost as much as I like you out of it." And something that sounded like "Bloody military and their bloody uniforms" which did not help the 'keep your clothes on' decree at all. Still, by the time Sebastian did return they had fixed their jackets and were ready to go.

Greg was grabbed from behind pretty much as soon as he made it into the ballroom that had been transformers into a dining room and would undoubtedly be turned back later. Mycroft spun him around to face him and Greg felt his stomach drop at the raw look on his face. "My are you alright?" Mycroft huffed a dry laugh. "I'm perfectly alright dear Gregory, I simply wish to tell you that I love you, and that I hope you are aware of the fact." Greg took his elbows and steered them out of the doorway into a corner that was only really visible from one side anyway and took his face in his hands, soft hold on soft skin for a man who, in love, was just that, gentle and soft, new, no matter how long they were together. "Of course I know that My, and you know I feel the same way. I always will, even when you make me crazy and I want to just punch you and all the secret service guards that follow along with your every move." Mycroft gaped and Greg rolled his eyes before planting a gentle kiss into his hair. "I love you, you muppet, and you'd best remember it. Now, lets get out there, if memory serves we have a lovely spot at the table over there, on the stage. This'll be mortifying. Let's go!" Grinning he dragged Mycroft along behind him and Mycroft smiled at his back. If caring was not an advantage, then by God he was the most disadvantaged man in the room.

Martha Hudson surveyed the guests seated at their round tables from her spot on the dais. Everyone they had invited had arrived, and as per their idea there was no division between Sherlock's guests and John's, everyone was jumbled up together. Sergeant Donovan raised a hand to her as their eyes met and she laughed. Six months ago Sally Donovan would have been the last person anyone would have expected to see at this particular union but after cutting off the man she'd been seeing her demeanor had changed entirely. In fact she had taken it upon herself to stand up for them, and while she didn't take back some of what she said because Sherlock was an arse most of the time and she would pick him up on it if he was, she did apologise for the useless insults and accusations. The boys had been more than happy to forgive and forget (well Sherlock had needed a bit of prodding but when didn't he?) and a sort of tenuous friendship had sprung up. It was nice to see she had brought a plus one, a very handsome fellow that (she'd learn later) ran the chain of coffee shops Sally frequented. Angelo beamed up at her and she blushed, he did have a lovely smile.

Molly had asked not to be seated up with the others mainly because she wasn't exactly good with being stared at, but also because it would have looked a bit odd if Lucia was up there too, she was just supposed to be a PA. The table they were at was quite a mixed bag. The emergency response team members at one side, one of Sherlock's beautiful cousins and their boyfriend, Henry knight from the Hound of Baskerville case (Yes she read John's blog in her free time ok?) and a woman who introduced herself as Mary Morstan, the jeweler in charge of their rings.

Molly had to hand it to her, they were beautiful. White gold for Sherlock, Gold for John, Two medium diamonds stood raised on the top of both rings, and a tiny diamond filled the gap between them. "Wine Mary?" Molly offered as she poured herself a glass. "Oh, no thanks, I'll stick to water myself. Detoxing." Mary replied and opened her mouth to continue when a voice announced Sherlock and John.

They strode hand in hand into the dining room and made a beeline for their seats in the centre of the table, with Orabelle on the far and Mrs Hudson to Sherlock's left and Greg to John's right with Mycroft at the end, their table surveyed the room as a whole which meant John could have a peek at who was here. He needn't have worried about that because as soon as they sat down one table in particular made itself known to him. "Alright Three Continents?" a gruff voiced man called out to him and John searched for the face to match it. There was only one possible man but he could hardly believe he'd be there. "Bill bloody Murray what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be getting shot at somewhere? And Christ, Andy? Jill! Tom, Danny boy, Tony, Charlie, Major Sholto! Jesus you've brought the whole gang Murray! How the hell did you manage that!?" John guffawed as he embraced all but one man, who he saluted. Major Sholto obviously. Sherlock stood aside, wondering how on earth Mycroft had pulled this one.

Murray laughed loudly "We all got leave at the same time and then suddenly I get a nice little invitation for the gang to come today, how could we say no? I knew he'd get one as well so we made a trip to his place the other night to see and sure enough he had. Sholto here was a bit iffy but I says to him I says free drinks and a good party were all that was on the menu if I knew you at all" The group cheered quietly although no one was paying them much mind. Bill leaned closer so only John and Sherlock could hear "You know after all that business with the crows and the gossip rags back here getting wind he's been getting a lot of trouble, thought someone's been following him too, the threats and the like have been worse ya know? Don't worry yourself about it anyway mate, today's about you and Holmes here." John grinned at his old friends and rolled his eyes. "Don't get too wrecked will you? I for one am hoping to avoid a second Christmas 2009." A meaningful look passed between the captain and his teammates and for one moment Sherlock would have thought they were almost sheepish. Just a moment though, then it was back to laughter and gentle ribbing as they walked away.

Waiters and waitresses began to circulate with various dishes as soon as the newlyweds sat down, and for a long while all that was heard was light chatter and cutlery clicking off delft.

Too soon (or not soon enough depending on your point of view) it was time for speeches to be made. Greg stood up with his glass in his hand and smiled out at the crowd. "Those of you who know Sherlock will know that the fact we're seated here this evening is nothing short of a miracle. That miracle's name is John, and he is quite short." Laughter broke out and John elbowed him in the leg. Still Greg continued on. "There's a lot I could say about this pair, from the first time I met them to the things they've admitted while sloshed. However, I'm not going to do that. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, so if you'd all face the wall to your left..." and suddenly Greg was hopping down from the dais and a projector was being wheeled in. "Oh dear God" Sherlock cringed as he realised this was actually happening.

The slideshow began with photos of both men as children: John in a little rugby kit (his first), Sherlock wearing goggles and a lab coat that was entirely too big, John on his father's shoulders, Sherlock scowling into a scientific journal, John mushing icecream into Harry's face, Sherlock smiling as Mycroft tied his tie for him. It went on in that fashion and people awwwwww'ed and laughed along with it, and Greg's occasional commentary too. The slideshow moved on through their lives: A preteen Sherlock beaming with his arms around a massive redsetter, A teenage John with his arm around a pretty girl and a twinkle in his eye, Sherlock fast asleep on a pile of books, John with a trophy raised above his head and his rugby team all around him, Sherlock carefully dissecting some sort of eye, John grinning through the sleeve of a jumper his mum had knit for him. Sherlock at twenty with a scowl on his face as he sat around for a Christmas picture, John wearing his army fatigues and hugging his parents goodbye, Sherlock looking gaunt through the crack in his door, John with his platoon, Sherlock at a crime scene with Greg at his side, John being awarded his service medals. John and Sherlock walking away from the cabbie case side by side, Sherlock in the deerstalker, Mrs Hudson with her arms around both men on her birthday, John at the pub with Greg, John laughing on the side of the road with his arm around Sherlock as the fire brigade extinguished the apartment, Molly and John frowning at Sherlock as he stares into a microscope, Several of the men in various restaurants, The pictures the police had circulated of them when they'd believed Sherlock was a criminal, Sherlock on horseback, Sherlock asleep on John's chest in the hospital, Christmas with Mummy Holmes, John pressing a kiss to a sleeping Sherlock's forehead, Walking down the street hand in hand, Drinking from graduated cylinders at the stag do, Mycroft, Greg and Sherlock laughing as they sprinted away with a blue French horn in their arms, Sherlock and John scribbling on each other's faces in sharpie, Sherlock glowering that very morning as a competent looking man messed with his hair, John, Molly and Greg with their heads thrown back in laughter and three exasperated hair dressers behind them, John standing at the altar looking nervous, Sherlock comforting his mother in the gazeebo, John winking at the priest, Sherlock walking down the aisle, John leaning in to whisper something to Sherlock with a beaming smile, their rings being slipped on, and finally Sherlock clinging for dear life onto John as he dipped him when they kissed.

The projection froze on the final image and Greg stood in front of it. "They say a picture is worth a thousand words, and I think this picture says it all. John, Sherlock, to a lifetime of happiness and surprises, of giggles at crime scene's and doing things your way, of two am calls to the emergency department and a cup of tea on the side of the road while we wait for your flat to be safe for people again, to sacrificing yourself for your friends and seeing to the heart of the problem, to being yourselves and finding love in the most unlikely of places, here's to you both." Sherlock raised his glass along with everyone else and was surprised to find himself feeling rather... touched by Greg's speech. Clearly the man had put a lot of work and time into it, and he had articulated himself rather well for once.

"Thank you Greg, seriously mate that was... and the ones of today as well... just... thank you." John said seriously as Greg sat back down and Mycroft squeezed his elbow. John had been told that only Greg was speaking, when Sherlock stood up he stared at the rest of the table in surprise and they all just smiled back at him.

Sherlock cleared his throat. " I know traditionally the best man or maid of honour would speak, however seeing as technically this wedding is a testament to the fact that I am literally John's best man I think an exception is made. When John told me for the first time that he had feelings for me I wanted to tell him just how much it meant that he was willing to go on this new adventure with me, how shocked I was that anyone, especially someone as utterly good as him could feel this way towards me, and that I would try my very best to be everything he deserved. I wanted to, but we went to sleep instead. I am the most unpleasant, rude, ignorant and all round obnoxious asshole anyone could ever have the misfortune to meet. I am dismissive of the virtuous, unaware of the beautiful and uncomprehending in the face of the happy. So if I didn't understand why John would agree to a relationship with me, it was because I never expected to be anyone's friend, let alone their lover, seriously it was incredibly unlikely." There was a chuckle at that and Sherlock smiled softly down at John. "Certainly not of the bravest, and kindest and wisest human being I have ever had the good fortune to know." John reached up and squeezed his hand while the guests smiled. "John I am a ridiculous man, redeemed only by the warmth and constancy of your love and friendship. I cannot honestly say that I deserve this man, but I vow to you John in front of all our family and friends, one last thing: From now on I will strive to be deserving of you, and I will always be there for you no matter what. You have proved your strength time and again, through war and injury and tragic loss, and it is that strength that you will have to call on often through out our life together. You are seated" a quick glance down at Mary "with the two people who will love you most in all this world, and I think I can speak for both of us when I say we will never let you down, and we have a life time ahead to prove that." The guests were teary eyed, Sherlock could see Molly dabbing at her eyes and Edgar smiling proudly up at him, and he felt John's lips graze the back of his hand. " As Lestrade mentioned there's a lot to be said about John and myself. Before any of this, John's primary function in my life was to be a flatmate, a companion, an assistant for my work. There are many cases I could describe for you here, many have been described already on the blog John started the day we met. One case in particular springs to mind, A request from a member of the guard at Buckingham palace to help him with a stalker problem he'd been having..." Sherlock continued on about the case of the mayfly man, how they couldn't find the man who'd called them until they saw the pool of his blood on the shower floor, no weapon, no killer, just a man lying dead on the floor, until John realised he was alive and shot into action, keeping the man alive. "I will solve the case, but John will save your life." A small girl's voice chimed in "But who was the bad guy?" "Yeah and what did those ladies have to do with it?" Sherlock sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

" I don't know, we didn't solve that one. Perhaps I should have told the one about the elephant in the room... moving along. To conclude-" and all of a sudden the pieces fell into place. Hamish. One of those women with ghost boyfriends had known John's middle name, and that there was ro be a wedding. Her lazily typed "Enjoy the wedding" spun in front of his eyes. The would be killer was here. But for whom? Sherlock spun on his heel and jumped down to walk among the guests. "They say to keep a speech short, leave em laughing, but I have a different idea. Let's play a game. Let's play murder." Mrs Hudson's groaned "Sherlock!" Wasn't exactly a deterrent. "I for one spend a lot of my spare time deciding how I would murder family and friends" he strode along each table, deducing each person as he passed. One of them was in danger and he had no time to figure out who. "John for example I would poison. He lost a whole Wednesday once, didn't even blink." A few nervous titters of laughter swelled and died. "What about here, in this room? If you were to murder someone right now. Any theories? Anyone?" Silence.

"Sherlock" Edgar whispered as he walked by. "What's going on?" Sherlock shook his head and made their signal for danger quickly with his hands. Edgar, ever calm, simply nodded and sat back in his seat to watch the group. Archie's childlike voice piped up. "What about the invisible man? The invisible man with the invisible knife?" With a thud that seemed like it should have been audible to everyone, Sherlock knew who was in danger, and why. "Vatican cameos." He coughed and watched as John tensed, bending to give Sholto a little piece of paper and whisper "Upstairs. "

"What does that mean?" Greg whispered to John who was standing now. "Battle stations. Someone is going to die." He was up just in time to see Sherlock's head dip to whisper in Major Sholto's ear and the pair of them disappear off. "Call a medic would you Greg, and an officer or two as well. I think the suspect is in the building." Greg was already dialing before John had said call. John himself was rushing off with no explanation to the now mollified guests. Mostly they just accepted the word "Sherlock" and a shrug as explanation enough.

"Open the door James." Sherlock had hoped to avoid a scene that would scare their invisible man away by moving this part of the proceedings upstairs, not convince Sholto that this was somehow meant to be. Of course the blatant signs of depression that had been irrelevant earlier were now blaring sirens in his head. John's presence wasn't exactly helping either. "Please don't do this Major." John added desperately, and Sherlock knew that he'd have to really step up his game now because Sholto had to live. He had to. "I'm a good man Holmes. Those crows... that wasn't my fault. But people don't understand, they haven't been on the ground, making the hard choices. We're both still good men Holmes, even if some of our choices haven't been great. Maybe they'll see that now." Sherlock pressed his face up against the frack between door and frame. "There's a whole gang of people who know that right here, two of them outside this door. We are good men James, and that's why we would never do this to John, to any of them. They deserve better, and so do you. Open the door." John held his breath for agonizingly long moments before the heavenly sound of the bolt sliding back broke the silence. John's arms wrapped around them both. "Thank you" he murmured. There was nothing else to say.

The three men walked to meet the ambulance team and the officers waiting in the foyer with Lestrade at their elbows. Sholto safely in medical hands, Greg rounded on Sherlock. "Alright. Who is it?" Sherlock smirked. "You really couldn't guess? Who can remain unseen at both a wedding and the guard at Buckingham? He never even showed his face. I believe you'll be wanting to grab the photographer Mr. Fischer before he makes a break for it." There was a soft cough from the left and John burst into laughter at the sight of a sixty odd year od man dragging the suspect in by his ear. Cuffs quicky in place Edgar sighed. " Sonny, next time you want me to bring you the criminal, would you mind giving me something other than the ear dragging suggestion to catch them with?" Sherlock shrugged when Lestrade gawked at him. "It worked didn't it?" John rolled his eyes at his new husband as Fischer was pulled away, now one camera poorer. ("It has all the photos of today, of course we're keeping it" "But Sherlock its evidence in the-" "shhhhhh John.") And as the lights of the squad car flashed and it drove away, a round of applause drifted out from the dining room to them. "By the way, let me be the first to say, because I have no doubt you'll be hearing it all night, you were brilliant. " John beamed up at Sherlock who flushed slightly and looked away. John was right, he was the first of many to say that, with Edgar sliding in at second place and Archie in third. They all blurred together after that, and it should have been nothing but for some reason Sherlock felt more accepted among his family that night than he had for a very long time because of it.

After the hubbub died down and the invisible man was definitely in a police station John couldn't help laughing. "What?" Sherlock asked with eyebrows raised. " Nothing, nothing. Our life is utterly bizarre is all." Sherlock laughed along with him and led the way back into the reception where the tables had been pushed to the sides of the room, the light of the setting sun flooded in, and Mycroft and Aurora sat at their instruments. Just for one song of course, after that there was a sound system and Sherlock had been assured the music was perfect for the occasion. "One last surprise John. May I have this dance?" Sherlock held out a hand and John took it with a confused smile as they strode into the centre of the room.

Slowly Mycroft began to play, and Aurora laced her tune on top of his, seemingly discordant at first the tunes soon slid into each other seamlessly, and Sherlock held John close to him as they danced. With the dance classes he had been forced to take years earlier the grace and steps were like a second skin for Sherlock, meaning all John had to do was follow the cues his body gave, something he was very apt at. Sherlock spun John back into him and they swayed as the tune began to dwindle off. "I composed it for you, John's waltz. It's... our story" Aurora held her final note, a joyous burst of piano from Mycroft and then it was over and everyone was applauding. "It was beautiful Sherlock." John said thickly and he was glad that Mary walked over just then because he did not want to cry at his own wedding, he'd already almost let a few tears slip at Sherlock's speech. The two people who would love him most indeed. Obviously Sherlock had meant their baby and himself, even if everyone else there had considered themselves to be the second person.

"I was just about to head home, didn't want to leave without getting a chance to say goodbye, It was a wonderful day. Where are you going for your honeymoon?" Sherlock frowned and John blushed as he said "Sex holiday" and Sherlock nodded in understanding. Mary guffawed and then burst out laughing and John blushed a little bit more. "Sorry, whooo, Oh you are one funny guy Sherlock, where are you guys headed for your sex holiday then?" John smiled to himself at Mary's easy acceptance of their oddness. "My family own an old farm house in central France, nice and isolated from civilisation with only each other for a week and then a second week with Greg and Mycroft in Majorca." Sherlock was quite looking forward to both, the house in France was perfect for all the unclothedness he was planning and Majorca was good for the party scene and their villa was quite beautiful, the pool overlooking the sea was something he was very eager to put to good use. Mary grinned and winked salaciously at them "Well have fun then, I'll see you when you get back." With a quick wave she was gone out into the night.

Sherlock swayed them softly across the dancefloor, deftly avoiding other couples as they danced, and John smiled as he heard Sherlock beginning to sing along with the music for him. "Stars shining bright above you" his voice rumbled in his chest and against John's face "Night breezes seem to whisper I love you, birds singin' in the sycamore tree... dream a little dream of me." After everything they'd been through getting to this day, torture and fear, cases and crises, fights and falling outs, deaths and declarations, finally they were exactly where they were supposed to be, together, till death do us part.


	32. Chapter 32

"John" Sherlock whispered as he shook his husband gently "Come along or we'll miss our flight." John had passed out in his chair after dancing solidly into the wee hours of the morning with everyone in the room, including Sherlock himself on a good few occasions. He was still slumped there when their 5am lift to the airport arrived, and he wasn't alone. In fact there was a pile of various people sleeping with arms on tables and jackets as pillows where they'd fallen in the ball room. But none of them had a flight to make. John startled awake and blinked rapidly before he noticed Sherlock was there and a wide grin threatened to split his face in two.

"Morning love. Do we have time for tea before we go?" Sherlock thrust a travel mug into his hands before dragging him quietly outside and into the drive where one of Mycroft's classic black cars awaited them with luggage already in tow. There was movement on the lawn and Sherlock chivvied John into the car and knocked on the partition to signal the driver that they could go. The last thing anyone needed was to deal with a hung over, almost totally nude Lestrade rising from the grass first thing in the morning.

"Oi." John nudged his arm conspiratorially and Sherlock turned to find their faces only breaths apart.

"Is this any way to treat your new husband? I demand a kiss at the very least." He grinned and Sherlock smirked back at him.

"If you want one, take one." And he did, leaning in with lips and tongue and a smile on his face that never failed to make Sherlock's heart race in his chest. Soft caresses were quickly growing in heat as John took him to pieces with just a whisper of lips and a smile.

"Christ you're beautiful. I still can't believe you married me, seems like some sort of dream that I bloody never want to wake up from." John kissed him again, straining hard against his seatbelt to reach more of Sherlock's skin.

"Not dreaming" Sherlock murmured into his mouth, a quiet admonition that he felt it to, had checked and made sure that this was real, they were bonded forever, two words that would come to pass between them again and again in times of great joy, two words that meant more, almost, to them than I love you's, everyone had that. This was theirs and theirs alone.

Greg woke with the distinctive feeling that he wasn't where he was supposed to be. It was probably one of three things that had woken him up: the sun rising in his eyes, the birdsong, or the uncanny feeling of three rocks and a lot of grass under him. He was outside. In the front garden of Mummy Holmes' house. Wearing half a shirt and his socks.

Greg opened his eyes and groaned blearily, his head banging and memory fuzzy, he blinked slowly as he sat up and saw Mycroft in a similar state at his side, but the cheeky git had managed to get his pants back on. Whatever they'd gotten up to last night, and Greg was gleefully awaiting those flashbacks, must have been great fun, if the pair of his suit trousers strung along a bush was anything to go by. Greg stood up and stretched, basking in the glow of a surprisingly warm for the time of year sun and opened his eyes again only to stare awkwardly as Sherlock looked at him and abruptly shoved his husband into a car and drove away. "That might be awkward in the future" Greg muttered to himself as he grabbed his trousers back from the plant life and strode back to grab Mycroft and put him to bed, daft man would have a terrible day if he slept on such an unforgiving surface. Also he kept paracetamol in his suit jacket, and Greg for one had no recollection of where that had gotten to.

John toyed gently with the new ring adorning his finger and smiled, how something so utterly small could carry so much meaning was mad, but there it was. Obviously he loved Sherlock and whether they'd gotten married or not they were a done deal, for life and that was that. There was something about knowing that there was legal proof that the whole world could see that said Sherlock was his... it was exhilarating in a way he'd never thought it would be. He snuggled further back against Sherlock's chest, sleeping sitting up had done his neck no favours that was for certain, but how could he say no to another dance or another drink with the gang? After all he didn't know when he'd get to see them all together again.

"In case I haven't been oozing mushy thoughts all morning, you're amazing. Also you're warm and I'm going to nap. We can have our fun on the plane."

Sherlock snorted and wrapped his arm around John more tightly. "I don't doubt that we will. Sleep."

A softly muttered love you and John was out for the count, a blessing in all honesty. Crowds had never really been Sherlock's thing and while he'd enjoyed himself immensely a wind down from the constant barrage of people and their lives screaming at him was necessary. He'd gleaned a lot of new information about a surprising number of people and it would have been simpler to file if he could delete the other bits but he really couldn't say he wanted to, he'd been on intake mode for a good eighteen hours and losing a single moment of their day would be an unmitigated travesty. Still, silence was good for now, it was much easier to sort through his thoughts when he wasn't reading John and being so busy feeling equally as mushy as his husband. Even thinking it was exciting. Husband. John was the person he'd spend the rest of his life with. They'd killed for each other, would do it again. John would always have his back regardless of how sulky he was. Sherlock shook his head clear of the mushy stuff and got to work on his mind palace, and also a way to convince Mrs Hudson that Angelo was probably not the worst choice she could make and also please bring home takeaway from the restaurant when you're there? He'd work on it. He had an hour from here to the plane if traffic held and he wss making use of it.

Mycroft woke up with the rather disgusting sensation of having a furry rodent lodged between his teeth. Not to mention the odd feeling that he'd fallen asleep somewhere other than where he'd woken up, tucked snugly away in his room in Mummy's. "Gregory?"

He queried, having sat up and noticed his reflection in one of the wardrobe door mirrors

"Why do I have grass in my hair? And what are all these scratch marks on my n- oh my. Gregory?" Greg held back his grin with his teeth as he buttoned up his shirt.

"Yes Myc?"

"Was there a reason you allowed me to seduce you on the front lawn last night?"

He raised a salacious brow "Was there a reason I wasn't supposed to? " Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"Tell me we made it back up here before anyone saw." Greg thought back to the look in Sherlock's eyes as they took him in, in all his glory, in the light of the rising sun.

"Erm... for the most part. You still had your boxers on, naughty git, and he only looked for a second before-" Mycroft flopped his head back down onto the pillows and groaned as Greg laughed.

"If it's any consolation My, he's seen most of it before." He might have deserved the pillow to the head that earned him Greg mused as he dodged said projectile with a playful grin and a kiss blown from him to Mycroft.

Molly Hooper was not the kind of girl who just slept - physically slept, with people for the sake of it. Call her old fashioned (everyone did) but she felt there was something unbearably intimate about sharing that with someone, your bedroom; your most private spaces, your escape from the world, you, in your most vulnerable position. People never suspected but if Molly had a one night stand (everyone does at some stage) it was carefully constructed and played out as planned, no exceptions. It would be a shock to anyone that knew her to know that Molly was the one that left in the middle of the night, and she never allowed those men into her home; in part to keep her private life to herself but also to make sure she could leave. Her heart was a fiercely guarded thing, a lesson she had learned to follow long ago.

Which was why Lucia hadn't slept a wink that night. The two of them had stumbled into their assigned room at some god forsaken hour of the morning and slid into bed next to each other. Molly had passed out soon after, but not before lamenting the fact that the first time they slept together wouldn't be at home, wouldn't have all of the trust and hope that the act clearly carried for her. It had sobered Lucia right up, though she hadn't been that drunk beforehand, and forced herself to stay awake at all costs because she was damned if they were going to lose something that meant a lot to Molly for no reason other than her lack of self restraint.

It wasn't that Lucia hadn't wanted to sleep with her, she had, God she had. But for Molly this was new, and she was putting her heart on the line again to top it all off, so slowly, gently, careful had been their approach to their relationship so far. There was something about Molly that drew her in, something raw and fragile and beautiful that she wanted to protect and cherish. And as the clock on her blackberry ticked past another hour mark, Lucia smiled.

"Bienvenue à la France monsieurs, venez, il y a une voiture pour vous au parking, si vous voulez il y a un chauffeur mais le Holmes aîne a pensé que vous preférè faire ça?"

For the second time that day, John was incredibly thankful to his secondary school french teacher, Madame Guillard, for forcing vocabulary about travelling down their throats. The plane journey (private, discreet, incredibly lax about passengers getting each other off. Repeatedly.) had ended with a little elderly french woman ushering them into a taxi that would "allez rapidement à la gare" and a four hour train journey inland later they were standing in Bourges train station with an incredibly French man, complete with moustache and a baguette for them.

He'd met them as soon as they stepped onto the platform and had babbled nonstop in rapid french since, and kept at it as he walked them to the doors of the tiny station.

"Alors, le clés. C'est le petit voiture noir la bas, et je dois dire que le clés pour ouvrir la maison serai dans la même arbe que tu as le donné. Je ne sais pas, ça c'est l'instruction de Monsieur Holmes." Sherlock plucked the keys out of his hand with a little smirk and shrugged at John's questioning look.

"Merci pour l'aide monsieur!" John called as a bored Sherlock dragged him away at speed, launching himself at the black Land Rover that awaited them across the car park and throwing himself giddily into the driver's seat. John shook his head with a smile and climbed in next to him, barely shutting the door before they were driving off out of the town and into the countryside. The drive was peaceful and warmly quiet, with Sherlock occasionally pointing out various places he had been to before or vinyards and the different methods they used to give their distinct flavours to the wines they made.

The houses got further and further apart until there were none around and only acres and acres of golden fields to be seen. When Sherlock made a surprise turn into one, John finally understood why they had a land rover as opposed to something less ostentatious. The dirt track was just that, a dirt track, and it led through the fields of wheat and occasionally sunflowers into a looming copse of trees, a small but dense looking forest at the end of the stretch. Joh said nothing, allowing the afternoon sun to shine on his face through the window and Sherlock to have his grand reveal. The trees offered some shade and as John finally got his eyes readjusted to the darkness they were out of it again, back into the blazing sun, made all the more bright by the limestone courtyard in front of the house.

"Oh." John breathed when he could see again. Still, Sherlock said nothing, and they disembarked the car in silence.

It was a cottage built from sandstone with a few darker bricks around the windows and door frame, and powder blue wooden features like the shutters and door. A rose trellis climbed the door frame, reaching upwards from the plant life that adorned the ground in beds all across the front of the cottage. The limestone curled down into three paths that led away from the property itself and into the wild landscape around it. The first circled gently around a massive oak tree that dominated the drive way and then trickled down across a grassy field and into a small vegetable garden and orchard where it reconnected with the secind path that seemed to bring you directly out into the middle of an explosive field of wild flowers and led around the back of the property, in the opposite direction to the third path. What wonders that side of the cottage held John couldn't guess, he could only gape open mouthed at the beauty of what he could see.

"It's not much. In the summers when Mummy and Father wanted rid of me, this was where first Mycroft and I and then I alone would be sent. I spent some of the best and the worst summers of my life here, I thought you might enjoy it, of course there's a contingency plan if you don't I can make the call right now and-"

John curled his hands around Sherlock's hips and smiled aginst his mouth, kissing him softly again and again until he shuddered and lost the tense stance he'd adopted without even realising.

"It's beautiful Sherlock. More than I had expected it would be, it's perfect. Perfect, love."

John said gently as he led him towards the grand oak for

grab the key to the door, which Sherlock unsurpisingly pulled from a knot hole in the trunk and handed to John without question.

The peace of the place, broken only by the whisper of leaves and the hum and chirps of insects and birds, made everything seem thick and slow, like honey dribbling down from a spoon and even the sound of the key turning in the lock seemed like too much. Sherlock allowed himself to be immersed in it, in this place, in the nature of it, in John and his slow inexorable seduction of him like waves lapping against the shore. Every touch had a crystalline brilliance, a hyper reality for him and it threatened to overwhelm his every sense, to drag him into oblivion but then there was John's hand, his anchor to the world, and there was his breath, like the flight of the birds, and his heartbeat like the wings of the bees, and his whispered devotion like the very wind in the trees outside and Sherlock was one with the universe, finally at peace with the world in John's careful hands.

He thinks absently that he might actually understand why John had made him watch that ridiculous animated film about the singing native Americans, because right at this moment he feels every heartbeat of the Earth like a drum in his soul and the beat is sounding John John John John John. He is weightless now, if he had the strength to he'd apologise but he's wrecked already, and John has barely even taken his clothes off.

This. This was what he had always wanted to do for

Sherlock, to take him away for a moment from the screaming information in his brain and just soothe him with everything he had. Something about the cottage itself, the grounds, something about them was making Sherlock let go and John was there to catch him, to coax him through.

He kissed him, warm and languid, slipping both of their bodies free of clothes that had become a cage, trapping both of them in their most put together selves, the pieces of their truth they shared with the rest of the world. This softness, this care would never see the light of day in London, but here, here it could breathe again.

John couldn't help but worship the man in his arms, fondness and awe radiating off him as he brushed his hands through Sherlock's curls and teased his teeth across his jaw. "You're too beautiful Sherlock, so beautiful I can't breathe sometimes just for looking at you. You don't even know how perfect you are to me. I look at you and wonder how anyone could be so utterly fucking glorious as you are." John breathes it into his skin with every breath and it's so much, Sherlock can only whimper back at him, press himself against John, pleading with him to touch, to take. And John, ever tuned to what Sherlock needs, lowers them to the ground right there in the living/dining room and stares hard into Sherlock's eyes, they're watering now with the emotion of what they are doing, what they're about to do, black orbs rimmed with silver like a lunar eclipse in a puddle.

They've done this before a few times of course, but never quite like this. There was always a part of Sherlock, John knew, that he kept back, held onto and tried to hide from him while they did this, closing his eyes, turning away, but not today. Maybe because he can't, positoned as he is in John's lap, but John thinks it's something deeper, something primal and honest at the core of him that needed to be here to be freed.

They are silent but for quick breaths as John grabs the lube they had used on the plane from his discarded trousers and slicks his fingers with it, and quietly, oh so very quietly, pushes himself inside. Sherlock for his part leans back into his hands, gasping softly, acknowledging the silence and trying his best to maintain it he encourages with soft growls that turn to whimpers as first a second, then a third finger join the first in wringing pleasure from him. Pliant in John's sure grip he writhes when John brushes just so and lights his entire body up with ease. He whines when John's fingers leave him, and John's own replying growl makes him shiver with want, a silent request for everything John can give is answered before he can blink in the repositioning of his hips and John teasing his way inside of him.

The world seems to hold its breath as they join properly and Sherlock can't blink, can't breathe for fear of missing even a moment of the ecstasy. Groaning from the very core of him like an animal he is finally, blessedly full, seated again against John's hips. He hadn't even noticed the tears beginning to fall down his cheeks.

"Shhh love. It's alright. I've got you, you hear me? I've got you." John whispers, kissing every part of him he could reach with their bodies as close as they are, running his hands down his back, his sides, his thighs and stopping at his hips, holding him.

"Let me do this." He murmurs into the hollow of Sherlock's throat and Sherlock let's his head droop to rest on John's shoulder, surrendering himself fully. With all the care he applies to everything he does for Sherlock, John lifts him slowly, following Sherlock's hips with his own gentle thrust, taking both of their pleasures into his capable hands. He has to readjust his own position only twice before he starts to hit Sherlock's prostate on every thrust, their gentle pressure building up to, Sherlock knows, an orgasm unlike any he's ever experienced and it's all down to John and just how much he loves him and always will love him, a fact that Sherlock is reminded of when John's hand slithers between them and beings to stroke in time with his thrusts and Sherlock can feel their rings pulling him closer and closer to the edge.

John pumps him agonisingly slowly, holding back his own pleasure in favour of Sherlock's own but he won't have to wait long because Sherlock is on the precipice, teetering on the edge when John whispers "I love you" into his ear and he's gone, spilling onto both of their chests and he spills and spills and at some point in the middle of it all he can feel John coming inside of him, and he is spilling and spilling all over both of them for an eternity of pure bliss but it still ends so quickly, and John is still inside of him and holding Sherlock's quaking body against his with arms that should have given out long since but hadn't because he had him, and Sherlock is utterly destroyed by the adoration in his eyes and the pride in his smile and the love that spills like rain from his lips and the knowledge that this man had chosen him, was going to spend the rest of his life making Sherlock feel this way, had married him just over 24 hours ago.

"I" his voice was rough like sandpaper to his own ears from lack of use, from just how wrecked he felt "I love you too." John's lips find his again even as he slips out.

"I know. Christ, I know." John reaches around and grabs the throw from the couch that had been one of the only things he'd seen before they'd started and wrapped it around them both and Sherlock can't help but love his husband a bit more for just letting them stay as close to connected as possible for a while longer.

Hours later they were tucked comfortably in bed having eaten one of the meals that were waiting for them in the fridge and drank a bottle of frankly amazing rosé. John's hand had barely left Sherlock's skin all day, in truth he'd felt a bit emotionally wrung out himself, and there was comfort in knowing that Sherlock was right there in it with him.

"Tomorrow I thought we might explore for a bit, visit the hives, just the two of us. We can go into town at some point if you'd like, but I would prefer to spend this time alone with you, selfish as it sounds." John huffed a fond laugh into the dark room and Sherlock sighed against his chest and wriggled closer, his curls feathering lightly against John's chin.

" I agree, next week we'll be with Greg and Mycroft. Time to ourselves is all I want while we're here too."

They stuck to that for the next five days, collecting fresh honey, exploring the forest, admiring the various species of butterfly that fed on the field of wild flowers in the end field, tasting local wines, lighting bonfires and watching the sunset and the stars come out, kissing, caressing and undressing the days away until the morning of their flight arrived and they were once again sitting in the airport departure lounge.

The plan had been to meet Greg and Mycroft at the other end of their trip, so John was suitably surprised to see the two men strolling towards them. Sherlock just rolled his eyes and stood up, reaching back down to take John's hand in his and walked them both over to meet the other pair in the middle.

"Did you have to?" Sherlock sighed at Mycroft who shrugged

"Economy. My people weren't given the accurate information, a situation that will never occur again thanks to a few tweaks here and there. Nasty business." John and Greg just looked on in confusion as the conversation continued.

"I take it you at least called ahead."

Mycroft's faux affronted gasp had Sherlock smirking again.

"Naturally. The villa is ready and waiting. Besides, you and I both know-" and in unified snooty female tones startlingly similar to those of their Holmes relatives the brothers finished the sentence together.

"The weather is much more pleasant in Venice." Sherlock and Mycroft chuckled for a moment before spinning on their heels and striding off together towards departure gate 14.

"Sometimes I wonder why we did this to ourselves" Greg quipped as he and John followed their partners blindly onto a plane that may or may not be headed for Venice Italy as opposed to the Spanish coast.

"I don't know about you, but I'm in it for the sex." John winked at him and Greg nodded along playfully even as the hurried to catch up to the others.

"I like the money myself, and the power, that's good too." John laughed at the absurdity of it all and Lestrade couldn't help but join in.

"I don't know why we did, but it's pretty fucking fantastic." John beamed as their Holmes' climbed into a small jet.

"You're not wrong there mate, you're not wrong there." And as they finally made it onto the plane where Sherlock and Mycroft were awaiting them, John knew this week was going to be unforgettable.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I am so sorry this has taken as long as it has, my only excuse is that school has been crazy and I haven't had a minute to myself without a book or a score in it for weeks. There may also have been a bit of self recrimination to blame; I did start writing small pieces of this more than once but I was just not happy with it, still amn't sure of it tbh. But I think (if my cacullations e right which who knows, maths and I have never really gotten on) that this chapter pushes the word count over the 100k mark, so I'd like to thank each and every person who reads this for every second of your attention to this story. Every follow, favourite and kind word have been appreciated 100 fold and I hope I can keep your attention. Thank you all~S

The Venetian air was balmy and hot, almost sweet to taste compared to the smog and rain tastes of London. John revelled in it as he stared out the window at the city below, seemingly frozen in time from the height that they were climbing. He had to admit, when Mycroft had pulled a set of car keys out of his pocket he'd been more than a little surprised, and the sight of the generally chauffeured man driving was quite strange to him. 

As he leaned against the window, John took a moment to check on Sherlock, seated as he was in the passenger side because "Its no fault of mine that the only place in a car that will accommodate my femurs is the front." He was restless and twitchy, shifting constantly although the car was spacious enough. John shook his head fondly and snaked a call I used hand into silken curls, feeling the momentary tense before Sherlock's body relaxed totally back against his seat, pressing into his hand as if there was nothing more he could want in the world than their skin to be together. 

 

 

Greg watched the display from his side of the backseat and smiled. It was almost cloyingly sweet but he wouldn't have wanted anything else for them. The wedding had flayed Mycroft raw emotionally, the fervour in his voice when he had assured Greg that he loved him had cut him to the core and after all the festivities and the drunken sex on the lawn, he'd decided to finally sit the man down and talk everything through once and for all. 

Uncomfortable though it had been while nursing monstrous hangovers, they had hashed out everything and anything they could think of, with Myc tentatively voicing his own self doubt and need for human affection (Greg gets the feeling the man might have still been a little drunk after the champagne breakfast) and Greg admitting his fear that Mycroft was ashamed of his piece of rough sometimes. In the week that the newlyweds had been gone, a lot had changed between them. For the better,Greg thought as he caught Mycroft's eye in the rearview mirror and watched as they crinkled up in a smile.

 

 

Sherlock leaned back into the gentle touch of John's hands in his hair, drifting down his neck and across his spine, comforting his thrumming mind with its rhythmic beat and grounding presence. Prolonged confinement without mental stimulation had never been high on his list of things he enjoyed, and while driving up the side of a mountain may have been enthralling to some, his mind was not one to take much pleasure in the stagnation. The fact that they were mere minutes from the villa was the only thing that was keeping Sherlock inside the actual vehicle. Not that it was lacking in any way, the large 4x4 reminiscent of their car from France was equipped in every way imaginable, with tinted windows and bulletproof body armour, military grade GPS, impeccable temperature control and even autopilot technology, but somehow still not enough space for his bloody legs. "After two hundred meters, turn left, then you have reached your destination." The mechanical voice heralded his freedom and Sherlock sighed in relief. Finally.

 

Sometimes Mycroft could barely believe that he was now in possession of more friends than he had ever thought to have in his life. At one point he'd had only Sherlock, but burning those bridges had meant years of being alone, until he had found Lucia. A conventional friendship theirs was not, and very few knew quite how close they really were, within his profession there were rules against it of course, and his moving up the political ladder had not been a solely selfish endeavour if it meant maintaining their secret until it didn't matter anymore. He had been the biggest supporter of the fact that caring was not an advantage. He had meant it when he'd taught his brother that. Yet here he was, driving a car full of people who would call themselves his friends and vice versa, to a villa in the outskirts of Venice for a week long holiday. The world, he had concluded, was quite a fickle and strange place to be. 

As he pulled up to the gates Sherlock practically flew out of the car to buzz them in, and the open door wafted the unmistakably citrus scent of lemon zest in on the breeze. It was a soothing and familiar scent, one that had always held happier memories of days spent with a much smaller, much more affable Sherlock in the summers of their youth, back when father had been alive and everyone had left them to their own devices, preferring to conduct business, shop or see the opera than chase after their children. 

The villa was fully stocked, as was the smaller guest house at the back. He did not need to hear what those Sherlock and John got up to ever again. It had been traumatic enough the first time, and he would happily go his entire life without ever repeating the experience. To see the house, after almost twenty years, was like seeing it all anew. The sun gleamed brightly off white washed walls, streaming in lines across the slats of blue shuttered windows and baking the terracotta tiles of the roof, while massive pink rhododendrons cast rose shadows on the limestone driveway and lemons ripened on trees before your very eyes. The heat was a presence you could hear, washing thickly across the grounds as bees hummed lazy flight patterns and swallows glided through an azure sky, chirping their pleasure at such an idyllic scene. 

 

"Jesus." Greg whistled appreciatively, lowering his sun glasses to get a proper look as he stepped out of the car, eyes flicking from place to place without settling for too long on any one in particular.

" Its something alright." John agreed, eyebrows climbing as he caught sight of the second building and blushed right to his ears. Sherlock himself had a little half smile on his face as he took everything in again, although little had changed since their infancy apart from perhaps the size of the flower beds.

"I for one am not planning on spending this week red as a Manchester united fan on match day, I'll meet you inside." Mycroft had a small laugh himself at the shock on their faces as he strolled inside and away from the sun's harsh rays. Sir Alex had been a very useful contact in the past, something that had not changed even after his ill advised retirement, although they didn't need to know that. He'd barely made it past the threshold when he began hearing sounds of movement as the boot was opened and bags removed, Sherlock's feigned voice of boredom drifting inside in bursts. It was good to be back.

 

John rolled his eyes and shook his head fondly as Sherlock stalked after Mycroft, leaving himself and Greg to do the heavy lifting.

"It wasn't that they couldn't lift their own luggage, they just weren't bothered and knew we'd do it for them the lazy bastards." Greg swore as he shouldered a third bag and stretched to close the boot with all three on his arms. "As soon as we get inside I'm showering and changing into something short sleeved, I wouldn't even blame the man who battered someone for a bottle of water in this heat." John laughed and shrugged, the Italian summer was nothing on Afghanistan, if anything it was a pleasant sort of heat, the kind that licked at your skin rather than tried to burn you to death. Maybe that was just him, if the sight that greeted him inside the house was anything to go by.

 

Dumping their bags in the foyer, Greg and John wandered from room to room, following the sound of the Holmes drawl into a beautiful open kitchen where both brothers were slathering sun cream on their faces, necks and any other exposed skin, which encompassed quite a bit as both were down to trousers only.

There was a beat of silence as Greg registered the teeth marks on Sherlock's hip and John had the odd realisation that he'd never even seen Mycroft's ankle before, let alone his chest hair, which just happened to be a sort of auburn red.

"Well, I should have guessed there was red hair in the family with you both being so pale, make sure to get your ears, the amount of burnt ears I've seen !" John quipped as he scooted around them to the fridge for something to drink, grabbing four glasses and a bottle of what looked like fresh orange juice. Mycroft rolled his eyes and continued to smooth cream over his arms "Yes well, there's one in every family. Lucky for me I was blessed with a darker shade on my head, the difficulties red heads have in finding clothing to suit their hair is not something I envy." 

John handed Greg his glass and set the other two within reach of Sherlock and Mycroft before taking the bottle out of their hands and starting on Sherlock's back with a practiced hand.

"Greg you might do Mycroft's, we'll be all week waiting for them to finish." Greg chuckled and complied, ignoring the vague protests about their ability to do it themselves. John was right, they really would have taken all day. 

 

Sun cream applied, all four men went off to change into more weather appropriate clothes; for John and Greg that meant shorts, white t-shirts and sandals, and a camera slung across their necks. For a Holmes that meant three quarter lengths, deck shoes and pale linen shirts with the sleeves rolled up . All ensembles were completed with various sun glasses, aviator style for Greg, the classic Ray Ban for the rest. Mycroft pulled a parasol out of thin air and they were set (John had brought a knapsack with water bottles, food, sun cream and a small first aid kit just in case), strolling out the door and across the courtyard to a garage that seemed to know they were coming because it slid open as they walked towards it.

"Mopeds or convertible?" Mycroft asked as Greg gawped the array of vehicles that lay waiting for them.

 

A short (too short if you asked Lestrade, not short enough if you asked Sherlock, those helmets were hot as hell) moped ride later and they were in the heart of Venice itself, staring at canals and gondoliers in the hustle and bustle of the main square. The beautiful architecture of the city surrounded them on all sides, and John couldn't help but photograph them all on bridges and statues, walking and laughing as they explored the city and bought ridiculous souvenirs of masks that wouldn't have looked out of place in a child's dress up box, eating in authentic Italian restaurants and relaxing as a they were swept and serenaded along the river in gondolas. That was all before the night life of Venice even awoke, drawing them in with hypnotic rhythm and a siren's call to dance, the pulse and throb of music racing through bodies as they crowded the square, all glistening in the moonlit plaza. 

Sherlock held John against him, chest to chest as they danced in the throng, elated still at the novel sensation of a wedding ring against his skin, his husband against his chest, smiling wickedly as he moved against him in ways that called into question the level of public decency that was required. Then again, He could spot two couples who'd had sex under a bridge in the past three to six hours and another five that had seen them, and that was just the ones that had lingered. There were of course 'Policia' hanging about but they were incredibly lax, waiting, Sherlock suspected with some degree of respect, for a real crime to be committed. Which left them in the blissful position of being able to do pretty much anything they liked. This, this was freedom. 

 

 

Mycroft had danced his feet sore and laughed until his sides ached by the time they decided to call it a day, leaving the mopeds in the private parking area in town and walking the couple of kilometres back to the villa . 

"Gregory what are you--" He asked as a hand snaked into his back pocket while they walked. 

"My palms are sweaty and while I'd like to hold your hand, this is the next best thing. Problem?" He asked, cheeky grin firmly in place. Mycroft planted a soft kiss on his cheek.

"No problem at all."

They walked the rest of the journey like that, plastered together from shoulder to thigh while up ahead they could just about make out the swinging of John and Sherlock's interlaced hands. 

 

John waved goodbye to Greg and Mycroft as they walked to the guest house , leaving him alone with Sherlock at the door to the villa. Hand in hand, they moved through the house in silence, John leading them both through darkened room after darkened room and out the back of the building to the pool that overlooked the city, shining blue from its depths and inviting them in. With no fanfare, John toed off his sandals and stripped his t-shirt away, holding his audience of one utterly captivated. Once the shorts were gone and he was naked as the day he was born, John turned to give Sherlock a little smirk before diving in quietly and swimming leisurely to the other side. 

"Joining me, Mr Watson Holmes?" He asked teasingly, relishing the speed at which Sherlock, now snapped out of his daze, tore off his clothes and slid into the water. John lounged against the side of the pool while he waited and admired the sleek movement of Sherlock's body through the water, the way the moon light made his pale skin glow ethereally, like he was some sort of devastating creature of the deep. 

"You are something else entirely you beautiful creature, Christ, look at you!" John breathed as Sherlock rose to stand before him, brushing sodden curls from his face with an air of nonchalance that only added to his statuesque appearance. If they didn't know better, people could almost believe he was marble, if not for the very gratifying flush of red on his cheek bones at the compliment. With one hand under his chin, John brought Sherlock's mouth down to his and kissed him, tasting the natural salt Mycroft had mentioned they used to clean the pool, wine and that spicy, electric undertone that was simply Sherlock himself. 

 

Sherlock slumped against him, wrapping himself up in John in any way he could, pressing them together until there was next to no space between them and even then it wasn't close enough. This man, he thought to himself, this is the man who I get to share my life with. 

"John" he mumbled against lips that were warm and soft on his own. 

"Yes love?" John replied while still managing to kiss his brain into buzzed submission. He was a marvel even still after all this time and Sherlock knew he always would be, that was just who John was.

"I love you-" he had to pause midway to kiss for emphasis "-quite a lot". He felt John smile rather than saw it, tasted his pleasure like it was tangible on his lips and shivered in anticipation as he was spun around to lean with his back against the pool wall while John loomed between his thighs. 

"Isn't it lucky then that I love you quite a bit as well?" Water lapped between them , a cool contrast to the heat of their skin as they slid against each other, hands assisting when the quickening rut was not enough, and muffling their collective gasp when John finally pushed in with Sherlock's legs wrapped around his waist. Whispered affections mingled with groans were swept away by the night as they collided to the rhythm of their breaths, stolen between kisses, and the stars shone their approval in silver streams on the water's surface, while far below, Venice slept.

 

The next day was spent pool side, with Sherlock and Mycroft stretched out on sun loungers under parasols, ogling their respective partners as they swam and raced in the sun, getting visibly browner as the day wore on. 

Greg had to admit, the swim trunks he was wearing were maybe a tad bit loud. A bet with Sally had meant he'd ended up buying skin tight purple ones- much to her amusement at the time in the shop, but wearing them now in the Italian sunshine he had to admit he fancied himself in them. He looked pretty damn good in the plum shorts, and he'd even convinced John to get a pair of his own in solidarity (OK so maybe it had been after a few pints and he'd made John grab a pair then and there otherwise there was no way he'd have agreed to what he had done), but his were a camouflage pattern and as a completely impartial third party Greg could honestly say he looked bloody fantastic in them too. They were allowed preen, at their age it wasn't often that you still had the body for clothes like those and with all of their scars and war wounds (literally) combined they were lucky they were still standing at all. 

"Drink, Greg?" John offered as he pushed himself up and out of the water, ambling past Sherlock's chair while running his hands through his hair, standing it up and shaking the wetness out of it. 

"I won't say no" Greg laughed, watching as Sherlock followed John's retreating form with his eyes from behind his laptop. Two lazy minutes passed with Greg leaning his face and arms on the pool edge, anchoring himself to the shore while Mycroft snook a glance every few seconds until John returned, a tray of lemonade and small cakes in his hands. Greg leapt out of the pool to sit next to the loungers in the shade and gorged himself on the sweet and bitter combination. Washing the cappuccino cake down with fresh lemonade, Lestrade wondered why he ever did anything else. 

 

Days passed, the stack of empty bottles of sun cream grew steadily, tans darkened, waistlines began to grow, and all four men had taken time to work out a bit after eating some of the most ridiculously luxurious food they could imagine. It had actually been quite a bonding experience, the four of them in the gym laughing and singing along to the radio blaring 'O sole mio' and 'Nessun Dorma.' Wine had been drunk (often while someone- Greg- was supposed to be cooking, every recipe called for it), tours (of places where murders or discoveries had occurred, given by a very eager guide in Sherlock) were taken, paintings were judged (apparently Mycroft had a keen interest in art and had been something of a prodigy in his youth), statues were analyzed, pubs were crawled (John's best contribution was an uncanny ability to find the best pubs) and fun was had by all. Nights had been spent in beds and pools and kitchens and on one memorable occasion under the trees in the lemon orchard (the citrus scent had lingered for the rest of the day and it was very distracting). Phones and work and the stressful world of home were forgotten, for seven days genuine contentment reigned supreme, and it was bloody marvelous.

 

Like all good things however, their holiday had to end, and stepping off the plane in Heathrow was a bittersweet experience. John had almost forgotten that Mycroft wore suits and didn't smile in public, he'd never be caught singing Italian love songs into a ladle here, not when someone might be watching. It brought home to him though, the real depth of friendship and trust that existed between them all, the level of comfort and ease they felt in each others presence, and simply being in London couldn't change that. Besides which, he was anxious to see Mary, It being April she would just be starting to show, making their secret a small bit more difficult to keep. Still, that meant the baby was just under six months away and that meant they would have to start preparing the flat. No way in hell it was fit for child of any age at the moment, let alone a newborn. 

 

Sherlock was eager to get home as the taxi drove down Baker street, and he threw cash at the driver before springing out the door, leaving John to deal with the luggage once again and tearing inside the front door.

"Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson gushed cheerfully from her flat, bustling out and wrapping him in a hug. "Its been too quiet without you and John upstairs. How was the holiday, anything exciting?" John shuffled in with their suitcases and grinned back at her.

"Morning Mrs Hudson, I'll have photos ready to show you later, need to upload them to the old laptop first, maybe you could come up later?" She tapped the use of her nose knowingly and John stuttered out a denial but Sherlock simply beamed at her and pulled him away. He was more than a little surprised when, as they stood on the landing outside 221b John dropped the bags, pushed his knees out from under him and carried him bridal style across the threshold. John's laughter and Sherlock's embarrassment lasted for only a few moments though as they took in the sight that was their flat.

 

Every surface was covered in flowers, boxes and envelopes to the point where John was pretty sure there were more of them than there was actual furnishings. 

"Eh. Do we... do we even know this many people?" John breathed as he tentatively made his way through the piles. 

"Mrs Hudson! Our flat?" Sherlock called down to her from the top of the stairs. 

"Oh yes dear, they arrived everyday you were away, the postman was here more than I was! Did you not see the papers while you were gone, the two of you were front page news! They should be up there somewhere if you want to have a read." She called back at him and Sherlock frowned. Front page news? He pulled out his phone and typed rapidly, pulling up the news sites, his blog, and John's too for good measure. Sure enough, they'd been headline news not five days ago, their 'secret wedding' blown wide open for the public to peruse. 'Detective duo's dream day' was a personal favourite headline, the subtle use of the letter d was not lost on him. They had been very careful not to say anything about their impending nuptials to anyone, and security on the day had been tighter than the Queen's at least so there were no photos but somehow the unremarkable transition from engaged to married they'd been hoping for had been blasted out of the water. Wonderful.

 

He strode back inside to find John reading notes attached to various bouquets, bug eyed at a particularly pleasant arrangement of roses, he spun to show them to Sherlock. "The Royal family sends their congratulations. Bloody hell. I know you're distant relations but Jesus... Media got wind I take it?" Sherlock nodded and John sighed. "Ah well, too late now for anyone to change that, we might as well open this stuff, maybe give some of these flowers to Mrs Hudson, I'm sure she'd appreciate them." 

"Later, let's open this now so we can sit down at some point today." Sherlock added as he plopped himself down on the floor in the middle of the pile and patted the spot next to him. John chuckled and sat next to him, rolling up his sleeves and praying no one had sent body parts. 

 

 

An hour and a half or so later, most of the packages had been opened. A few they had left purposely to the end; gifts from Sherlock's family, the Yard, Clara and Mary. Cookware, scientific equipment, 'his and his' everything and gift cards for everything from Tesco to airlines had left them wanting for nothing of that nature for the foreseeable future. The stack of congratulatory cards was higher than the table was, coming from fans and friends alike they had at least a solid hundred, if not more. John was pretty sure the letter opening knife had never seen so much action.

"Maybe a thank you blog post. I don't think the paper industry could hack the number of thank you cards we would need" John mused, staring at the bag full of wrapping and envelopes he'd had to grab after five minutes because the place had looked like a small hurricane had torn through.

"Probably the best idea" Sherlock agreed, pushing two packages in front of John and keeping two for himself. Sherlock was left with Mary and the Yard while John got the other two and they opened them quickly, eager to be finished as much as eager to see the contents of the boxes.

 

The present from the Yard actually left him a bit choked up when he saw it, the twinned magnifying glasses engraved with Consulting detective and Blogger accompanied by a very full letter, with little snippets from each officer they'd worked with giving congratulations and one even thanking them for helping him win the pool they'd had going. It was clear the gift had been Donovan's idea, the handwriting on the box alone made that much obvious. He would have to thank her, maybe a nice solved case with her name on it, she wasn't entirely incompetent after all. The sound of pages being turned made him look up to find John staring in awe at a book bound in leathery material and likely hand designed to hold the various artistic works of the extended Ledger clan. 

"These are...breathtaking. How did they do this, I mean, I saw them scribbling away but... look at that!" John held the page open for him to see and he had to admit it was a stunning piece, a watercolour drawing of their kiss on the altar, flower petals drifting down around them as John dipped him low, the expressions full of life and joy. "I would say there's at least one sonnet in there about that moment, try the next page." He quipped, and sure enough there was poetry on the back side, sitting next to a few close ups of the detail work in the drawing before it; their hands with the rings, their boutonnieres, their eyes. 

John set the book reverently aside, it would be poured over for hours by them both later. Clara's gift,all the way from the Swiss Alps, was, as she called it, a newborn prep package containing baby proof locks for drawers and presses, corner softeners for tables etc, nappies, a vest with little ducks on it and a book aptly labelled 'How to be a dad for dummies'. She'd also enclosed a long letter about how she was and how she hoped the box would be useful to them at some point in the future because they had to keep their promise to Harry. John reassembled the box, tucked the letter inside and closed it up for when they would need it again, reminding himself to write back and let Clara know soon that they were keeping the promise they had made. 

Mary had taken the same route, being the only one who knew about the child on the way, she had given them a few bits and pieces for them, including, much to Sherlock's astonishment, a baby blanket with a bee pattern, a soft bee teddy, and an unbelievably tiny deer stalker hat. John had laughed uproariously at the hat and made him swear to let him take a photo of the baby and him in their matching hats. The two boxes of baby stuff were hauled upstairs to John's old room, which would become the baby's room in a few months, and Mrs Hudson was called up for flowers and a slideshow. Also they were out of tea, and if there was one thing Mrs H was never without it was tea and a biscuit.

 

Sherlock sat with John's arm around him as the three of them went through the photos of the honeymoon and took a second to make sure that this moment was saved forever in his mind palace, in with the wedding and the honeymoon itself, with his store of John, Mrs Hudson and now even some Lestrade Mucroft again, under the reference title Family. Yes, he had Mummy and the two sides of the extended biological family, but they didn't really count . These five, and more immediately, these two people were the ones who truly felt like they were hi family. With another member on the way, everything would be different, for the better or not, Sherlock couldn't yet tell. At least, for today, this, with John around him and Mrs Hudson not too far away, was home, and he had missed it.


End file.
